


The Paradox

by Jael_Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael_Lyn/pseuds/Jael_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair are pushed by events in directions against desire and conscience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Paradox

> _Fighting terrorism is like being a goalkeeper. You can make a hundred brilliant saves but the only shot that people remember is the one that gets past you._
> 
> PAUL WILKINSON, London Daily Telegraph, Sep. 1, 1992
> 
> The big threat to America is the way we react to terrorism by throwing away what everybody values about our country--a commitment to human rights. America is a great nation because we are a good nation. When we stop being a good nation, we stop being great.
> 
> BOBBY KENNEDY, O Magazine, Feb. 2007
> 
> Blair dumped the dishtowel on the counter. He'd called Jim three times with no response; time to check on him in person. He shook his head fondly at Jim, ensconced on the couch, surrounded by manuals. His long legs were stretched out in front, and he was dutifully taking notes on a yellow legal pad. Not a scene Blair had ever imagined for his action-oriented roommate. Thank God the Lieutenant's exam was within the next twenty-four hours. 
> 
> Simon Banks had a reputation for insisting his officers prepare for advancement, but he'd been particularly persistent with Jim about this exam. In truth, he'd insisted forcefully that Jim apply, and study, for the exam. Jim had been equally resistant. Harsh words had flown between the two men on several occasions. Jim complied only after being banished from the bullpen. 
> 
> Now in the third day of his Captain-enforced hiatus, Blair thoughtfully observed the results. Jim apparently compensated for reluctance with obsession. He'd been absorbed for hours at a stretch, using every minute of the three days off Simon had insisted he take. Blair was relieved to have this last day of preparation off as well, so at least he could give Jim some moral support. Good thing. Jim's new role as super student apparently excluded regular meals. If he didn't step in, Jim would show up to the test famished and sleep deprived. 
> 
> Slovenly wasn't generally a page out of the Ellison playbook, but the reluctant student hadn't even shaved for two days. Blair usually found him on the couch before seven AM, clad in some old gray PD sweats, already hard at it. He'd barely managed to coax some toast and juice down his roommate around ten. It was time to plan the next counterattack in mission Feed Jim.
> 
> For all the teasing and complaining and abnormal behavior, Jim turned out to be a serious, systematic student, even if a bit obsessed. Blair silently poured a mug of coffee and crossed the room. "Hey, you ready for a refill?" he asked, holding out his offering.
> 
> Jim looked up, a bit wide-eyed, and dropped the legal pad onto his lap. "Oh, yeah," he said, accepting the cup gratefully. He frowned just a bit. "Were you talking to me?"
> 
> "Not really," Blair said, happy to shade the truth just a bit. He gestured toward the books. "I think you're going to ace this test. Not that I'm the expert or anything."
> 
> "Overdoing it, huh?" Jim stretched and rolled his head from side to side. "I ache all over, and I'm turning into a crazy person. How did you ever do this when you were at Rainier?"
> 
> "You've forgotten the finals weeks when I didn't know what day it was," Blair said. "I'm impressed, and you're not really overdoing it. High stakes testing is a bitch. I'd do the same thing." He perched on the arm of the couch opposite Jim. "Not that I'll be taking the Lieutenant's exam anytime soon."
> 
> Jim gave him the patented 'you are so pathetic, Sandburg' look. "Give me a break. If you take the test - no, when you take it - you'll set the standard." He gratefully laced his fingers around the warming porcelain of the mug. "I don't think I've ever studied like this before. I just feel kind of freaked out about the whole thing. I don't know why." 
> 
> Well, that was one way to characterize a day and night obsession. Blair didn't feel the need to utter that rather harsh assessment. He'd actually given some thought to this particular topic. "You've gotten a lot of attention the last couple years. It adds some pressure. Don't you think that's it?"
> 
> "Probably." Jim snorted. "I can see it now. 'Cop of the Year fails exam, film at eleven.' Maybe I should just skip this whole thing. What do I need a promotion for anyway? I don't want a command. I'm perfectly happy in Major Crime, and I've told Simon that a thousand times. I'm only doing this to keep Simon off my back." He paused in thought for a moment. "You want to go out for a late lunch?"
> 
> Blair picked up the pad, skimming the notes in Jim's precise hand. "I'll take you out and then return you to the grindstone." He flipped another page on the pad. "Man. I want to read these summaries when you're done with them." He tipped his head slightly. "You're being too hard on yourself. If it helps, I know how you feel. Being a college student at sixteen was a pain. You end up worrying about meeting everyone's standards except your own. Not good."
> 
> "Is that what I'm doing?" Jim asked.
> 
> "Maybe a little, but it's justified. You'll have a few people looking over your shoulder, and you want to be proud of how you perform. Just quit second-guessing yourself. You're going to be prepared and confident, and that's what counts."
> 
> "Spoken from experience?"
> 
> "Absolutely spoken from experience. More experience than I care to remember. This part of academia I don't miss." Blair handed the legal pad back. "I know it irks you, but Simon wouldn't be so insistent about this if he didn't think you were ready. Are you finished with the section you were working on?" Jim nodded. "Then I'll feed you, but why don't you take a few minutes for yourself. I'll even start the laundry as a gesture of good faith while you do."
> 
> "It's my turn for laundry." He did a double take. "Are you dissing my study attire? Taking pot shots at my appearance?" Jim said with a mischievous grin. "And here I thought you were the champion of casual attire."
> 
> "That would be 'yes', because you've crossed the line from artfully ragged into I don't know what, Early Suburban Garage or something. Besides, I intend to be adequately compensated for doing the laundry."
> 
> "Ripped jeans were artfully ragged, huh?"
> 
> "Absolutely. My vest was a fashion classic. Now go dress, so I don't look like I'm taking the neighborhood refugee out for a meal. I'm hungry, but you must be starved."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim looked up from his empty plate, apparently a bit ashamed. "I ate every bit of that. I must be out of my mind."
> 
> Blair just grinned, toying with his slice of garlic bread. "Classic carbohydrate loading. The Washington penal code demands brain food." Freshly shaved, dressed in jeans and a maroon sweater, Jim looked like a new man. The break had done him good.
> 
> "A double serving of pepperoni lasagna? I just ate enough calories for a third world village, and you would usually be the first man to point that out."
> 
> "Yeah, yeah," Blair said. "So says the man with the physique. You can afford to indulge."
> 
> "Any more meals like that and I'll be asking Joel for diet tips." They both snickered. Joel's diets tended to be spectator events. Joel took the ribbing with grace.
> 
> "Jim, you've hardly eaten so much as a sandwich for two days. All you've done is study. You're overdue for a major refueling."
> 
> Jim sighed and traced designs with his fork through the remaining tomato sauce on his plate. "I should have never let Simon talk me into this. I like my job. I don't need to be a lieutenant to be a detective."
> 
> Blair was surprised. Jim wasn't usually so open in his introspection. "I'm sure he has a reason. Besides, this is just a natural progression." 
> 
> "Not really." Jim gently deposited his napkin on the table. "I've got less than ten years in. That's sort of considered a bare minimum."
> 
> "You weren't an ordinary rookie cop, Jim. Your military time counts. With your case stats and solve record? No one would consider you short on experience." Blair shifted a bit uneasily. No way was he going to let his partner talk himself out of this. "It's going to be fine, Jim. Trust yourself."
> 
> "Maybe. There are only three promotion slots open, you know, and I'm not the only one taking the written qualifier. The interview board will make the real decision."
> 
> Blair just listened without comment. If Jim was this wound up, it was better to just keep him talking than stew silently. It was a blessing that Jim would take the written test immediately after his Banks-enforced study exile.
> 
> Their waiter brought the bill. Blair snatched the check, and he didn't even have to argue over paying for the meal. Jim had picked up plenty of tabs during his grad student days, feeding him generously when finals rolled around or he had a grant application due. It was a pleasure to return the favor. "You have room for ice cream?" he asked with a grin.
> 
> "What are you trying to do to me, Chief?"
> 
> "I'm trying to distract you. Jamoca almond fudge, and then I'll quiz you or something."
> 
> "Or something."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Blair watched from the balcony as Jim's lean silhouette moved through the pool of light cast by the streetlight. True to his word, he'd drilled Jim until they were both exhausted. Jim had opted for a run, just to burn off some energy before bed. Satisfied that Jim was out of earshot, he picked up the phone and dialed.
> 
> "Hi. It's me. Yeah, he's fine. Captain, he knows it backwards and forwards, but he's still getting cold feet. No, he just doesn't see the point. Maybe you could just let him know ... Simon, you don't need to shout. I'll do my best, but I'm not exactly in charge of him. It would help if I knew why I was supposed to convince him to do this." Blair slumped into the nearest chair, unable to get a word in edgewise. It wasn't the first time, but he hated getting between two very strong willed men with opposing agendas. "Okay, Simon. I get it. But when he gets in tomorrow, he's your project. I've done all I can." Blair shook his head as the phone disconnected in his ear. "Good night to you, too, Captain," he muttered with a touch of sarcasm.
> 
> The teapot whistled and Blair selected his favorite night time blend, wondering what was really going on. Simon Banks had a reputation for bluster, but he didn't generally manage Jim by trying to bully him. The whole thing was pretty weird. He checked the clock. Jim would be gone at least another half hour or so. If he hit the shower now, he'd be out of Jim's way in plenty of time. 
> 
> Tomorrow's troubles could wait. Besides, as long as Jim actually showed up and took the test, he'd ace it.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim reread the question. The wording was tricky, no doubt with intent. He stopped and massaged his temples, just like Sandburg had coached him. In this setting, his sentinel senses were a bit of a curse. The tiny noises made by the other test takers were very distracting. He could tell when one of the other test takers started to get panicky. Heart rates went up, breathing got shallow and rapid. Ignoring everyone else was giving him a headache. He hardly noticed it in the bullpen, but that was due to Blair's influence. All the little things his partner did for him, so much of it unnoticed, until he was in a situation like this.
> 
> He checked the test booklet again. He was nearly finished and still had over an hour left. He glanced at the examining officer; Michaels, a current member of Chief Warren's staff, and before that, in one of the precincts. Jim didn't know him well enough to ask if he could stand, walk around a bit, or stretch. Michaels had been very specific about what he called the 'testing environment'.
> 
> He skimmed the remaining questions. Two on search procedures. Those he could handle. An evacuation scenario, which probably had no right answer and half a dozen wrong ones - one of those questions you let fly, and hope for the best. The chain of evidence question was stuff he'd reviewed with Sandburg last night, and that was normal routine with Major Crime anyway.
> 
> Time to quit stalling, he told himself. Go with the gut and finish the thing. If he finished early, he wasn't going to second guess.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> **Two Weeks Later - Morning of the Lieutenant's Qualifying Review Board**
> 
> Jim pulled fretfully at his tie. He hated ties. Blair gave him 'that look' and Jim knew what was coming. His partner wearily leaned his head against the passenger window of the truck. "Quit. Messing. With. Your. Clothes. And don't say you hate ties. We've clearly established that. The data is in."
> 
> Jim sulked over the steering wheel. "Cut me some slack, Sandburg."
> 
> "Quit making me crazy," Blair groaned, burying his head in his hands.
> 
> Jim drove in silence for a few minutes. Blair had every right to be irritated with him. He'd been a pain in the ass since before the written test, and none of this was his partner's fault. He ought to make more of an effort. "You want a coffee?" he asked hesitantly. "I'll buy." 
> 
> "No," Blair snapped. "I want a drink, a double, shaken and stirred. And then I want you hit with a tranquilizing dart."
> 
> Jim turned into the drive-thru at Starbucks. "I'll take that as a 'yes', and I promise I'll calm down."
> 
> "Good, because I can't take much more of this. Simon was adamant - " Blair paused. "Ah, shit, I'm sorry. You're my partner, and Simon isn't. If you don't want to do this, don't. Skip the review panels and withdraw your application for Lieutenant. I'll support you all the way. We can just tie Simon in his chair while he yells."
> 
> "Ah, Chief."
> 
> "I'm serious. It's not fair to you, and I apologize for being a party to the entire thing. Take the tie off. Simon will just have to live with it."
> 
> Jim blew out a long, tortured breath and counted out the cash for their coffee. "Don't apologize. I'm the one being an idiot. I didn't make Captain in the Rangers by turning down advancement." He handed Blair his latte. "I made it through the written portion fine. Not knowing the agenda is what's setting off my radar. Did Banks ever tell you...?"
> 
> Blair gave him a despairing look, as if he should know better. "Jim, if he had uttered a word, I would have said something. I have no clue, and I'm with you on this. It's totally out of character, and I've wondered about it, too."
> 
> They were nearly to the station before Jim spoke again. "Simon's done a lot for us. It does seem a little late to be suspicious."
> 
> "I would agree," Blair said. "You have about a half an hour, and then you go for the review board interviews. I wish you luck. I know you can do it, and you deserve it."
> 
> "I hear a 'but' in there somewhere," Jim said as he pulled the truck into a parking space.
> 
> Blair looked at him sternly. "Are you going in committed? Because if your heart's not in it..." Blair let the statement trail off, watching Jim closely for a reaction.
> 
> Jim switched off the engine and sat for a moment, jingling the keys in his hands. "I'm in, one hundred percent. Thanks, Chief. You've been a big help. More than you know."
> 
> "Yeah," Blair said, climbing out of the truck and slamming the door. "I hope you're still thanking me at the end of the day. See you when you're all done."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Blair stared at the screen, tediously filling out another case report. His usual accurate typing was not up to par. He must have corrected twenty stupid typos already. At this rate, it would be a totally unproductive day. Not that the reason was a mystery. Most of his brain cells were focused on Jim - sending him good vibes and guessing what Jim was being asked by the review panels.
> 
> "Pretty big frown for so early in the day." Blair looked up into the smiling face of Joel Taggart, decked out in his dress blues. Quite a change from his usual dark suit, white shirt and tie. No one ever accused Joel of dressing informally at work.
> 
> "Hey, Joel." Blair gestured toward the dress uniform. "You look fancy. Was that for the interview board?"
> 
> "It was. I was on the morning special topics panel." Taggart pulled a chair close and whispered, "Jim did a great job with the interview. Very impressive."
> 
> Blair smiled. "I'm not surprised." He lowered his voice to match Taggart's. "I thought everything in the formal review was top secret."
> 
> "Did I say anything? That must have been the radio or something. Besides, I ought to get some personal satisfaction out of getting roped into the review board. At least I'm off for the afternoon. Someone else has the honor."
> 
> "If you don't mind me saying so, I thought you were sort of out of the captain mode when you came to Major Crime." Blair grinned conspiratorially. "I assume you can talk about that without breaking some deep, dark secret."
> 
> "No secret, my young friend. Sometimes the rank catches you anyway," Joel said, leaning back in the chair. "Some of the questions and panels are situational. They need reviewers from SWAT and the other specialties. Officially, I'm still Bomb Squad certified, and everyone else was tied up."
> 
> "No offense, Joel, but you must be pretty far down the list. That was the point of taking the transfer, wasn't it?"
> 
> Joel shrugged. "Absolutely, but I still have more seniority than anyone else around. Plus, a lot of the administrative types who handle most of these things got sucked into some regional and state Homeland Security thing this week. They're back today, but the morning session needed more interviewers. The timetable for the Lieutenant's exam is determined by our contract and can't be changed on a whim or the schedule of the Federal government. That left me at the top of this particular list. Other than being stuck in uniform, I don't mind all that much."
> 
> "Is it interesting?" Blair asked. "I would think with so much at stake, someone would complain about conflict of interest. You've even been partnered with Jim."
> 
> "It cancels out in the end. We're not a large enough department for total anonymity. Line commanders like Simon usually don't serve for just that reason. It's hard to be impartial about someone you command. As for interesting, sometimes people say things that surprise you. Not everyone is cut out for the next level, even when they have a good record. It shows up pretty clearly when they have to talk about their decision-making strategies." He glanced toward Simon's darkened office. "Our fearless leader is still gone?"
> 
> Blair gestured to the nearly deserted bullpen. "He told Rhonda he'd be gone most of the day. Gave Jim a pep-talk downstairs and disappeared with a stack of folders. Everyone else is out on a case. It's been downright gloomy in here."
> 
> "Now that I think about it, I knew he had a meeting. He showed me the agenda. I'll be honest, Blair, I had personal reasons for coming back to straight police work, but I got out at the right time. Bombs are bad enough. This antiterrorism stuff - well, I don't know how anyone gets any peace. Too many possibilities, things you can't control. Any fool who can read internet directions can build a fertilizer truck bomb or a package bomb. It would drive me crazy."
> 
> Blair nodded. "I can see that. I suppose we've been lucky, when you consider the infinite possibilities."
> 
> "It's running the special squads ragged trying to train and monitor at the same time," Joel said. "It's going to show in their performance and retention. I'm not the only one to decide the assignment just wasn't worth it."
> 
> Blair leaned back in his chair, considering what Joel had said. "So they need a bigger slice of the pie? Is that why Simon and the other captains are involved?" Blair asked.
> 
> Joel eyed him and then smiled. "I always said you were a shrewd one. The way I read the tea leaves, someone's talking about a major reallocation of resources. It makes line commanders like Simon real nervous. No one wants to share or lose good people. The garden variety criminals aren't going to give us a break out of sympathy or anything."
> 
> "Jim. He's a prime candidate, isn't he?" Blair's heart sank. As productive as their post-dissertation partnership had been over the last few years, they were vulnerable. Blair's mind thrashed wildly through the possibilities. Could Jim work alone? Could he work comfortably without Jim?
> 
> Joel's expressive face softened. "I've said too much, Blair. I've worried you unnecessarily. We're just talking speculation here."
> 
> For Blair, the other shoe finally dropped. "Is that why Simon was such a bear about getting Jim his lieutenant's bars?" he asked. He struggled to keep the anxiety out of his voice and failed miserably. "Don't answer. It's an unfair position to put you in." He crossed his arm and huffed in disgust. "It's so obvious I shouldn't have to ask."
> 
> "Rank has privileges, son. Rank always has privileges. A Lieutenant's bar should give Jim more say over his assignments, which is a good thing. Anyone within earshot of Simon's office the last few weeks knows how he feels about a command position." Joel gestured toward the computer screen. "Why don't you take a break and walk over to the Municipal Center? It isn't that far. I have to stop by the DA's office. The walk will do us some good. Maybe grab a late lunch on the way back?"
> 
> Blair looked forlornly at the screen, noticing another spelling error in the process. "Damn, another one," he muttered, stabbing at the backspace key. "I appreciate the offer, but I should finish this instead of fretting over things I can't control."
> 
> Joel stood up and pulled Blair's coat from the back of his chair. "That little thing about rank? I have more than you, and now I'm making it an order. Come on, Blair, let's get some air."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> The January air was crisp and cold. Gray clouds threatened overhead, but Cascade's notorious drizzle had broken. Blair burrowed his hands deep into his pockets of his leather coat. "How can damp feel colder than honest snow?"
> 
> Joel slapped him on the back. "You just need more body fat."
> 
> "Shouldn't be a problem. Jim and I ate lasagna for a crowd yesterday."
> 
> "Oh, to be young again," Joel said with a laugh. "My pasta days are over."
> 
> Blair laughed. "Big guy, you look positively svelte. You could have a treat once in a while."
> 
> "Don't tempt me. I can gain a couple of pounds just holding the package of uncooked noodles. I avoid that aisle at the grocery in self-defense. It's so unfair." He nudged Blair's elbow. "Let's take the long way. Cut through the park."
> 
> "Sure. Why not?" Three blocks later they were strolling through Cascade's largest downtown park. Being the home of Mr. Tube Steak, it was a popular spot for office workers on their lunch hours six months of the year. On such a dreary day, it was nearly deserted. The dark branches of big leaf maple stood out as sculptures against the sky, and the nearby firs hung heavy with moisture.
> 
> "Did you come down here when they had it lighted for Christmas?" Joel asked.
> 
> "We did. It's part of our Christmas ritual. I think it's nicer than the mall. We shop, Jim complains about the crowds and how he hates the holidays. We end up down here, buy Irish coffees, and wander around. I guess it's the little kid in me. I love the lights and the music."
> 
> "The PD used to come down and volunteer. I think some of the divisions still do." They lingered at one of the covered picnic shelters. "Two years ago Simon had to cancel us out. We were just too shorthanded. He didn't think it was fair to ask his people for more time away from their families, even for a worthwhile community event."
> 
> "Joel, I've been hanging around Major Crime for more than six years, and it's always seemed busy. Not enough people, not enough hours in the day. Was it ever really different?"
> 
> "Oh, yeah," Joel said. They sat on the picnic table with their feet on the benches. "The nature of the job is that you don't really ever catch up, but it's worse now. The never-ending paperwork, the court appearances, everyone second-guessing what the frontline officers decide. It forces us into defensive law enforcement. Even simple things take longer, and the reports! There's a reason Simon's desk is always buried. Federal reports, state reports, departmental statistics."
> 
> "Computers?" Blair suggested.
> 
> "Better than the old manual typewriters I started with, that's for sure," Joel said with a chuckle. "Can't tell you how many times I erased my way into a hole on a form. I used to break out in a sweat trying to feed in the paper to type on the line."
> 
> Blair chuckled. "I actually remember playing with an old manual when I was a kid. I think I was playing reporter. I never got the hang of the roller. My paper was always crumpled and sideways."
> 
> "Story of my life," Joel said. "I'll give you the computers, but here's another example. Now that we see a terrorist lurking behind every bush, the department is supposed to be doing twenty-four hour monitoring on municipal sites - bridges, dams, the water supply, power plants. Sites that might be vulnerable to sabotage. How can you schedule that and keep up any presence on the street? If not us, then who? How can you justify having a patrolman standing by a water tank, doing nothing most of the time, when you have a murder or sexual assault on the other side of town?"
> 
> "Bad choices. Big changes, huh?"
> 
> "Probably. Although old hands like me need to remember that change usually works out for the best."
> 
> "I think you're to be credited for your optimism," Blair said seriously. "I admire that in you." He stood up. "Thanks for taking the time to cheer me up. We should probably get going, don't you think?" 
> 
> "Time well spent. It's always hurry up and wait at the DA's office, anyway. We can put in a take out order and grab it on the way back. How does Chinese sound? Dim sum?"
> 
> "Hum bao and pot stickers?" Blair suggested. 
> 
> "Fine, just as long as you don't order the chicken feet. Those things taste okay, but they give me the willies." They started walking again, savoring the quiet companionship. 
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim nibbled at one of the sandwiches provided for the candidate group. Seventeen of them were trapped in here during their midday lunch break. No doubt every last one of them could imagine a better place to be, and better food to eat. He, personally, would kill for tacos with extra cheese.
> 
> They were under strict instructions not to discuss the questions and answers from the earlier sessions. So what was left for five women and twelve men to do with themselves for forty-five minutes, considering that they only had one thing on their minds? Two of the guys from Vice and one from Burglary had kept up a desultory conversation about hockey for awhile. Of course, hockey was the one sport he had no interest in. Rather than sound like an idiot, he'd spent most of the time staring at the uninspiring food, agonizing over the morning Q and A, and wondering what Sandburg was up to.
> 
> Someone nudged his elbow. Olivia Perkins, a long term sergeant in Patrol was next to him. "What if we yelled, 'Fire', and made a break for it? I'm game if you are," she whispered.
> 
> "Pretty bad, isn't it?" Jim said. She had a mischievous smile, and twinkling green eyes. He'd known Liv for a long time, but never actually worked with her. They crossed paths regularly in the gym. He'd seen her push an astonishing amount of weight for her relatively tiny frame. She had a reputation as a fine cop, and for outrageous practical jokes that kept the testosterone levels in Patrol at reasonable levels. "How's the salad?" Jim asked, pointing his fork at her forlorn-looking lunch choice.
> 
> "Seventeen crummy ways to torture iceberg lettuce. The sandwich?"
> 
> "About the same." He swallowed the last gulp of a rather cardboard version of pastrami on rye. "I have legal procedures left. You?"
> 
> "Special situations. Those SWAT guys think it's real entertaining to have the ladies come in. They assume we're hopeless during a crisis. It's like we have a target on our foreheads."
> 
> Technically, they were breaking the rules. Jim shifted to place his broad back to the rest of the room, sheltering their conversation slightly. "I did specials this morning. There's no magic to crisis situations. Keep that in mind. Any answer someone comes up with is more than half wrong, and that includes the pros. Don't let them beat you down."
> 
> She smiled appreciatively. "Thanks for that." She examined the soggy lettuce with a critical eye. "I'm going to put these weeds out of their misery. Good luck this afternoon." She glanced across the room. "Truthfully, I'd rather orders from you than from these other bozos." She moved off towards the trash.
> 
> Jim watched her go, a bit ashamed. For all his grousing over this process, he certainly had an easier road than some.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Blair waited while Joel signed his way through a stack of papers. The receptionist was reasonably friendly, the chairs comfortable, but the office was stuffy and too warm after the park. He'd hoped to visit with Beverly Sanchez to kill the time, but she was in court. One of the other DAs came out of his office, glared at him and started asking Taggart questions. He didn't seem too happy about the audience.
> 
> "Hey, Joel, I'll wait for you in the foyer."
> 
> Taggart nodded in agreement. "I won't be long," he said. "I'm still buying lunch, so don't take off without me." With that, they parted company.
> 
> Blair found an open bench along the wall and watched the flow of business. The Municipal Center held the courtrooms and many of the social services offices. People were waiting in lines at a dozen different windows, some snaking out across the black and white checkerboard of marble floor. Within ten minutes he witnessed two meltdowns and three notable flashes of temper. His anthro training kicked in. He made an entertaining distraction out of identifying the principals: the harried public defenders, worried parents with their wayward juvenile offenders, defendants stuffed into acceptable clothing for the court appearance, ordinary citizens getting a passport. 
> 
> A UPS guy banged a hand truck up the front stairs. He rolled his burden across the spacious marble-floored lobby, dodging patrons as he went. He left the packages and went to the directory board. Blair was suddenly intrigued. Among his multitude of odd jobs, mail delivery was one he'd never done. He imagined driving the delivery van, talking to people on the route. All in all, the brown uniform was probably a step down from patrol blues. 
> 
> He turned to check the time on the ornate clock in the lobby. His eyes roved around the space again, still amused at all the bustle. He circled all the way back around to the wall with the directory.
> 
> The UPS guy was gone. The hand truck with the packages was still there, tucked into an alcove.
>
>>   
> _Too many possibilities, things you can't control. Any fool who can read internet directions can build a fertilizer truck bomb or a package bomb._
> 
> Joel's conversation echoed in his head. Maybe the guy had just stepped into an office or a restroom. Blair pulled out his cell, and stopped just short of dialing Joel's number. This was entirely too paranoid. He left his bench, walked around the metal detectors to the entry doors. He scanned the street in front of the Municipal Center.
> 
> There was no UPS truck in the three slots reserved for deliveries.
> 
> "This is freaking me out," Blair muttered to himself.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> "That's the plan?" Captain Phillips from Fraud and Forgery asked in flat tones. The look of outrage on his face was undisguised.
> 
> Ken Wicker, their organizational consultant, took the flak calmly. "I realize it's going to look daunting on the first blush. But as we outlined this morning, in the current climate, our responsibilities have shifted away from traditional law enforcement. After extensive study, our organizational analysis indicates this is the best plan for the department and for the city."
> 
> "I'll tell you how it looks on 'first blush', as you put it. The minute this goes into effect, I can't cover even my minimum shift rotation." Simon Banks watched in total sympathy as Captain John Diaz turned a lovely shade of crimson, clearly trying to control his anger. "Robbery is a ten man unit. No way can I make seven do the work of ten. I don't care how I schedule it."
> 
> Wicker, trim in his suit, nodded seriously. "It's a classic situation of doing more with less. As explained in the morning budget overview, it's simply not an option to increase the size of the department by twenty to thirty percent to meet our new needs."
> 
> Simon sighed and rubbed his forehead. He needed a cigar. No wonder the city managers insisted this meeting be held in the Administrative Center rather than any of the PD precinct offices. With so much at stake, none of his fellow department captains would be pulling any punches. Being located within thirty paces of the Mayor's Office kept a damper on things. Even so, before this was over, the air would be blue with salty commentary. Undoubtedly, the powers that be wanted to minimize the inevitable dissension by managing the meeting site.
> 
> Plenty of his colleagues were ready to vent their opinions. He watched Chief of Police Warren, and wondered what the old warrior really thought. Organizational management had its place, but a police department wasn't a factory or an accounting office. He sketched himself some notes. When the others wound down and it was his turn to contribute, he wanted it to mean something. 
> 
> Truthfully, he sympathized with the more vocal reactions. The whole thing made him sick. He wanted to rage, not present sensible, well-thought-out counter arguments. As an excuse to move and have even a few moments in private, he left the conference table and slipped away to freshen his coffee. The buffet table was arranged against a bank of floor to ceiling windows, looking out over a suite of offices and a reception area. He stirred his coffee idly, watching a UPS deliveryman wheel a stack of packages into the reception area. The guy carefully placed the tower of boxes against the outer wall of their conference room and disappeared around the corner.
> 
> Satisfied with his coffee, Simon grabbed a handful of cheese cubes and steeled himself for a return to the discussion that might well tear his Major Crime unit apart. By comparison, delivering packages for a living looked like kind of an attractive option.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Command Sergeant DelMonico had manned the front desk of the Cascade PD for the last fifteen years, his chosen alternative to retiring early on disability. At fifty-two, if you ignored the limp created from a bullet-shattered knee, his appearance hadn't changed much from his days as a rookie patrol officer. Yes, a few more pounds, the crew cut was silver these days instead of black, and a pair of reading glasses peeked out of his uniform shirt pocket. He still greeted each day with the same channeled energy. DelMonico, quite simply, loved being a cop. His joy was to serve with his fellow officers, guiding the young hands, and commiserating with the older officers.
> 
> Damn. He scowled slightly. That delivery guy asked to park the hand truck by his desk so he could run to the rest room, and that was ten minutes ago. Where had he disappeared to? This was a police precinct, not a damn office building.
> 
> Intent on eliminating this offending presence in his domain, he rounded the big reception desk to check the delivery destination on the first box.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Blair's stomach twisted with uncertainty. He hustled back into the reception area, using his badge to bypass the two people running the metal detectors. He hustled back to his previous vantage point. The packages were still sitting there, and still no delivery guy in sight.
> 
> Shit! How many times had Jim told him to trust his instincts? He dialed Joel's number. His friend answered on the third ring. "Hey, Joel. You done soon? Something's kind of freaking me out. About five minutes ago I watched this UPS guy bring in a stack of boxes, and the dude disappeared. There's no truck out front. Am I jumping at shadows?"
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim forced himself to stay calm. He consciously kept his elbows and hands flat on the chair arms as if he were perfectly relaxed. His board examiners were giving him a pretty hard time right now, but for damn sure he wasn't going to let on. He'd been chewed out a few times during his military service, and Simon wasn't bad as an equal opportunity dispenser of divine justice. Hell, these guys weren't even as bad as his first drill officer during boot camp.
> 
> Bolstered by that thought, he started to answer. "I'm not saying that I would never check on the admissibility of evidence. Far from it. I simply believe that you can second-guess yourself into inaction, and then you're no longer doing your job. It's a balance. That's why knowing the statutes is essential, so that we can make reasonable, timely judgments in the field."
> 
> "How would you relate that philosophy to the scenario at hand, Detective Ellison?"
> 
> _Didn't I just answer this twice?_ Jim kept his face impassive. He opened his mouth to speak -
> 
> A huge concussive crunch raised his chair and tipped him forward. He had no warning to brace himself. His face smashed against the table as he went down, slicing a gash in his chin. The three reviewers in front of him were thrown simultaneously back against the wall. The sound of glass shattering tore at his hearing. Just as he started to rise, another crump of sound and pressure sent him to the floor.
> 
> Struggling to his feet, ears ringing, he staggered forward, pulling the long heavy conference table off the other people in the room. Ceiling tiles continued to fall, showering them with chunks of tile and a fine mist of white. Jim knelt behind the table, ignoring the flood of blood dripping from his chin, pulling debris away to free the other occupants of the room.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Simon returned to his seat on the far side of the room. He was trying to pay attention to the latest heated interchange and started to slop coffee out of his cup. Rescuing the coffee, he dropped two lumps of cheese onto the carpet. What a klutz. Exasperated, he pulled his chair back and crouched to retrieve his morsels. He felt like an idiot, grubbing around on the ground after dropped food. 
> 
> He was below the table level when an enormous blast knocked him to the floor, blowing millions of razor shards of glass above his head. The room went dark around him.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Joel Taggart pushed past people as he flew down two flights of stairs. He burst into the lobby, frantically searching for Sandburg. The younger man was twenty feet in front of him, pointing to his right.
> 
> A muffled boom rocked the building. Distant, but substantial. Taggart saw Blair's eyes grow wide.
> 
> "Down," Joel bellowed. "Everybody down!"
> 
> A second muffled crunch, still at a distance, but closer. Blair was fighting his way across the room, pushing confused civilians to the floor as he came. His shouts joined Joel's.
> 
> "DOWN! DOWN! GET DOWN!"
> 
> A wall of noise and a blow like a sledge hammer overwhelmed them both.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim wiped at the blood on his chin, dazed but basically okay. His three board examiners were in about the same shape. Jim extended a hand, and hauled Captain Lui from IA to his feet. "You okay? That was below us somewhere. I'm going down."
> 
> Lui nodded, still shaken up himself. Blood was seeping from a gash on the back of his head. He waved weakly at Jim. "Go. I'll see to them."
> 
> In the hallway, other white-dusted ghosts were emerging from rooms and offices. Jim dodged through the milling crowd toward the nearest stairwell. Even with his ears ringing, what he could hear was telling him to move down from his third floor position. The origin of the explosion was below, probably the first floor. A few occupants of the second floor trailed him, obviously hit harder than he was.
> 
> He emerged onto the ground floor into carnage. Jim took one look and pinpointed ground zero for the blast, just inside the main entrance to the PD. He turned and shouted up the stairwell, "Everyone go back! Pass the word! We need aid supplies! We have wounded down here!" The next guy behind him was a patrol officer, young and uncertain, his blue uniform a pale gray through the dust. "You! Go back up to second and pass the word! Everyone coming down brings medical supplies. We need everything. Evacuate through the other exits. You're in charge."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> _Our God in heaven. No. Please no._
> 
> Joel pushed himself up slowly, freeing himself from the remains of a wall. Pain knifed through his back as he struggled to his feet. He reached back - no blood, just bruises. With a knowledgeable eye he swept the smoke and dust-filled area. The building seemed structurally intact, for the most part, which was hopeful. His heart sank when he spotted a nail buried in the remains of a wooden door frame. The bastards had loaded metal shrapnel into their device. That meant casualties. Lots of casualties, if not deaths.
> 
> Whether he liked it or not, he was now 'the bomb guy' once again. The realization sickened him.
> 
> He'd been at other scenes, other catastrophes. He knew what to expect, and more importantly, what to do. Attend to the human tragedy, and preserve as much evidence as possible. Groans and screams piercing an ominous quiet told him the injuries were numerous and critical. From his position along the wall, most of the blast carried forward and away from him. Sandburg, however, would have been right in the explosion's path.
> 
> "Don't panic!" he shouted to the few walking wounded struggling to their feet. "Check around you. If you're mobile, we need to get the wounded out to the street." He moved towards the area he'd last seen Blair, shifting debris and helping victims as he could. It hurt to walk, but he ignored it.
> 
> "Joel?!" Blair's head emerged slowly, covered in dust. A streak of fresh blood ran freely from his temple, and snaked down his cheek. He coughed violently. Joel reached him, pushing the remnants of a fallen light fixture away, and his hand came away smeared with red. Blood welled up through the right shoulder of Blair's flannel shirt. "Stay down, Blair. Let me check you over." Still choking on dust and the shock of the blast, Blair settled back, sitting awkwardly. "That's it. Easy does it." Joel pulled one sleeve of the flannel off Blair and eased it away from the injured side. With the flannel off, he could see a ragged hole in the cotton Henley below it. A crimson stain was spreading fast.
> 
> Blair was panting in pain. "Something's in there," he blurted.
> 
> "Shrapnel. The bastards loaded the damn thing with shrapnel. You were lucky." Joel wiped a smear of blood away. A nail head poked out of the wound a good half an inch. "I see it." He probed carefully, trying to slow the blood flow without causing more pain.
> 
> "Damn," Blair cried. When he saw the damage himself, he swayed. "Get that thing out of there!"
> 
> "You need a doctor," Joel said grimly, looking around as if a physician would pop out of the wall.
> 
> "I don't care! Joel! Look around you. I'm in better shape than most. Get it out, or I'll do it myself. Come on, man!" he pleaded.
> 
> Joel weighed the options, the scope of the disaster and the reality that, for the moment, the two of them were it for emergency personnel. "Brace yourself, kid." Joel gently turned Blair's head to the side, gritted his teeth and pulled. Blood spurted along with Blair's howl of anguish. At least now they could put decent pressure on the wound. Joel ripped the flannel shirt down the middle, and wadded half into a rough pad. "Hold that," he said, using the rest of the shirt to tie it in place. "Push on it, right there. That's it."
> 
> "Shit. I asked you to, but that fucking hurts!" Blair took one deep breath after another and steadied himself. As the pain ebbed, he reacted to the scene around them in horror. "Where do we start?"
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> The world was silent and dark. Simon's first try at movement failed. He lay still for a moment, trying to take stock of his body and surroundings. One hand pushed forward, until stopping at a hard, smooth surface. The table top? His fingers were slick with...must be blood. His head ached, and he tried to recall the last few moments. He'd been kneeling. Then a blast. It must have flipped the table. Simon groaned. The men seated across from him - their bodies and the table must have shielded him from the worst.
> 
> He shifted enough to get both hands beneath him and pushed hard. The weight above him began to give way. He struggled to his knees and pushed his way up and into a choking fog of dust and half-light.
> 
> The first hint of smoke rolled over him, along with his own fear.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> The glassed front of the Cascade PD was no more. Jim tripped and stumbled his way to the ragged hole in the first floor, just across from the Command Sergeant's area. Bent and twisted steel girders gave way to the subbasement garage. He slowed, unsure how far the floor would support him. Intent on finding the boundary of stability for the rescuers he knew would be following, he worked carefully, sifting through the rubble blocking his path.
> 
> He winced as two long slices opened on his left hand. Too late - glass shards were mixed with the jumbled debris he was digging through. Gloves would be good, but he dialed down instead. He could hear the pound of footsteps - a building full of cops rallying to help their own. It just wasn't the moment to wait around for better equipment.
> 
> He halted, trying to orient himself. In his mind's eye he saw the entrance he'd walked through a thousand times. This had been an open area, sort of a foyer with the Command Sergeant's desk and public reception services. It was a transit area, not one generally packed with people, and not much internal structure to be damaged by an explosion. Unless the floor above collapsed, this was mostly ceiling debris. He looked warily above him but, other than blast marks, the ceiling seemed secure.
> 
> Cops from the upper floors were starting to pour into the space. "Keep back from this area!" he shouted. "We're hanging out over the parking garage over here. Start at the far wall and search a section. It's too unstable to walk through. Someone circle around to the front and direct traffic."
> 
> He continued to search. The floor creaked and he figured he was too close to the edge. He shifted sideways, with the remnants of the command desk at his back. Touch told him he'd encountered his first victim. Jim bowed his head as he hauled the body into view, wishing that what he already knew wasn't true. For this victim, there would be no rescue. The face on the armless torso was unrecognizable, but the uniform bars told the story. Marty DelMonico had passed to the other side as he had lived, standing firm between his fellow officers and the dangerous world around them.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Sirens began to wail. Simon made another attempt to stand. He listed to the left and sank back down. Pain knifed through his head, and his eyes refused to focus. The dust in the air was beginning to clear, and revealed the wreck of the conference room. Of the dozen plus people in the room, no one else was moving.
> 
> Another puff of smoke rolled through the air. Fire, somewhere. He needed to get himself and his colleagues out of here, with or without help. Simon forced himself to his feet, balancing with anything he could find to hand. Certainly he had a concussion. All he wanted to do was lie back down, but he damned well wasn't going to burn to death in this god-forsaken room. Flinging debris away from the nearest human form, he uncovered John Diaz, shaken up, concussed, but conscious. 
> 
> "John! You with me?"
> 
> Diaz groaned. "What the hell happened?"
> 
> More smoke rolled in. "We need to move - the others..."
> 
> Diaz' eyes widened in panic, but he nodded in understanding. Leaning on each other, they unearthed the next man and started to clear a path toward the outside and safety.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Three bombs. Three critical nerve centers. The city hierarchy lay buried, injured and dying, in the rubble of the Administrative Center. Fire and emergency personnel could communicate with each other, but most of the PD's communication network went dark from the damage at the Central Precinct. Officers from the suburban precincts rushed in, but coordination was a fantasy. The response was like a three-legged stool without a third leg. 
> 
> Confusion, followed by fear and rumor, reigned. The good people of Cascade, driven by panic, then curiosity, and finally a sense of duty, rose up and responded. Overstretched emergency personnel found themselves shoulder to shoulder with ordinary citizens, dragging the injured from the crippled buildings. Anyone who could hold a hand, bandage a wound, or carry a victim was pressed into service. Minivans and SUVs became a fleet of impromptu ambulances. Cell phones spread the word and ruled the day. It didn't take a genius to grab a case of bottled water out of an office break room and walk it a few blocks to those in need, even if you were wearing a business suit or a pair of stilettos.
> 
> At the PD, the situation was particularly chaotic. The divisional and administrative leaders, almost to the last officer, were across town fighting for their lives as fire raged in the Administrative Office Building. Command fell to officers two, three, even four levels down the organizational charts. Individual departments and ad hoc groups coalesced into makeshift units and functioned on the streets surrounding the chaos at the precinct. Emergency satellite radios and supplies were ferried from upper floors to the street, communication networks reestablished. The beating heart of the city pulsed again. Even as the officers retrieved the wounded and the dead, their thoughts turned in unison toward one focus.
> 
> Whoever did this, we will find them. We will find them and justice will be done.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> "Hey! No, guys, over there!" Blair waved to a group of three with 'Forensics' in yellow print on their jackets. He didn't recognize them. He was pretty sure they weren't Cascade PD. "You want Serena. Yeah, her." He got a thumbs up for 'message received'. 
> 
> Whoever they were, he was grateful to see them. In the initial aftermath, he and Joel had been the total emergency response, recruiting civilians whenever they could. Eventually, the word had gone out. Every community within a hundred mile radius was flooding personnel into Cascade. They tended to pitch in wherever, following no centralized plan, but it hardly mattered. 
> 
> He blinked as a new batch of lights came on, chasing some of the gloom out of the wrecked space. He'd lost all sense of the time, other than the fact that dark had fallen. His immediate concern had been to ignore his shoulder, stay on his feet, and follow Taggart's instructions. His respect for the former commander of the bomb squad turned detective had soared. Besides generally organizing the response, Joel was simultaneously running an investigation. His practiced eye was identifying and preserving evidence that Blair knew he would have missed entirely. It all looked like blown up junk to him.
> 
> Exhausted, he leaned against the wall. Damn, that was a mistake. He grasped at his shoulder. Every now and then, he envied Jim's ability to dial pain away. Jim's skills would have been a convenient way to ignore his damaged body. His entire right side ached, but at least he wasn't bleeding. Some of the casualties he'd helped... The thought brought a shudder and a surge of vengeance. The children - bloody, maimed, terrified and worse - had ripped his heart out. For one of the few times in his life, he completely sympathized with an eye for an eye.
> 
> Jim. How was he doing at the PD? The noise, chemicals and smoke in the air, God knew what other scents and sounds. They'd managed one brief conversation. Jim had been wrapping up his final review board interview on the third floor, well away from the worst of the bomb that took out the entrance to the precinct. He'd sworn that he wasn't injured other than minor cuts and bruises, but for Jim, anything less than bleeding from the eyeballs was minor. In the occasional lulls, Blair wondered and worried about his partner.
> 
> "Son, we've got to get you out of here. Get that shoulder looked at by an actual doctor." Joel's voice startled Blair out of his reverie. Joel's face looked almost grey, lined with soot and the fine white dust that seemed to cover everything.
> 
> "I'm okay. I - it's not right - you need -"
> 
> Joel grasped him by the elbow. "You've been my right hand today, and the last thing I need is for you to drop on me. We're getting more people in. They can spare us for a few minutes." He nudged Blair outside, toward one of the waiting ambulances.
> 
> "I'm not leaving, Joel," Blair said adamantly, trying to pull away.
> 
> "No, you're not. Until the FBI gets here with a team, we're still in charge." Joel turned to the nearest EMT. "I need this guy. Can you clean out his shoulder, give him a decent field dressing, and keep him on his feet?"
> 
> "Yes, sir. Why don't you both have a seat?" She gestured toward a row of plastic bins turned upside down. "Welcome to my waiting area. We'll get you some food while I work."
> 
> "We have food? How about water?" Joel asked. "Who's coordinating?"
> 
> "Coordination?" she scoffed. "Now there's a dream. The manager of Albertsons on Fifth loaded up his pickup and brought bottled water and every granola bar he had on the shelves, God love him. I guess the word has gone out, and stuff just shows up. Last I heard, we had sandwiches and coffee with more on the way from some church. Ken? Can you see what you can scare up for these guys?"
> 
> "I'm on it. One of the stores just brought another load over." Her partner disappeared into the dimly lit night. 
> 
> "I'm Kira Phillips, by the way. Let's see what we've got here." She pulled away the flannel dressing and cut away the cotton shirt underneath. "Crap. What did you yank out of there?"
> 
> "Some kind of a nail," Blair said, still queasy from just the thought of that awful moment.
> 
> "Yeah, we've seen too many of those. Not the smartest thing you ever did."
> 
> "Well, you had to be there," Blair said with a rueful grim. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
> 
> "You're lucky it didn't shatter a bone. We've seen a lot of fractures. This is a straight soft tissue puncture. It's gonna ache like a son-of-a-bitch in the morning, but if we can keep it clear of infection, you'll be fine. Why don't you lie down for a sec? Let me clean the area, irrigate the wound. We'll get you a tetanus shot ASAP, just as a precaution."
> 
> Joel settled next to him. He broke a section of energy bar off and held it out. Blair grabbed it with his teeth and chewed. "You'll have to wait for your water." Blair nodded. "Ironic, isn't it?" Joel said. "Just this afternoon we were talking about me stepping down from command, and here I am, right back in it, bombs and all. Dragged you with me to boot. Sorry about that, my friend."
> 
> Blair turned his head away as the EMT went to work. The whole blood and guts thing still wasn't his scene. "Damn, that hurts. You were awesome in there, Joel. You know so much. You didn't miss a beat."
> 
> "I just was the available guy." He grabbed Blair's hand as his pain rose. "Easy, son, ride it out." He let Blair suffer through the worst and began the conversation again. At least it was a distraction. "Our communications are awful, but last I heard, Jim was basically incident commander running the mess at the PD. Another ultimate irony. The guy who doesn't want a command got it anyway. All the more senior guys ..." His voice faltered. "Three simultaneous bombs are bad enough, but to lose our whole command structure..."
> 
> "I'm sorry, Joel. You knew them, worked with them." 
> 
> Sorrow washed across the man's face. "At latest count, out of eleven division commanders, we have four dead. Almost none of the remaining walked out on their own power. Warren's hanging on by a thread from internal injuries, smoke inhalation and burns."
> 
> "You heard from Simon?" Blair was breathing hard. His head flopped back as the EMT apparently finished flushing the wound and started to work on a fresh bandage.
> 
> "He got out. I know that much. I don't know the details. His explanation was a little incoherent, but he missed most of the blast somehow. Some bruises, minor burns, and a pretty serious concussion. Not that I expect it to keep him in any hospital right now."
> 
> "They won't let him out with a bad concussion," Blair said, and then did a double-take. "You think?"
> 
> "They're most likely Code Purple at the area hospitals."
> 
> "What's that?" Blair asked, grateful for the distraction.
> 
> "Code Purple? If you can walk, you're leaving. My best guess, we'll see him before the night is out. I'm half expecting to see him any minute, wrapped in a sheet and smoking one of those damn cigars."
> 
> "Now there's a picture. Simon hitching across town, looking like some demented KKK refugee." When both men started to laugh, Blair looked at the EMT tending to his wound and apologized. "Sorry. Politically incorrect. I'm just tired."
> 
> Phillips attached a final chunk of tape. "You're done, hot shot, and a good laugh never hurt anybody. We ambulance jockeys have terrible gallows humor. I didn't give you the tetanus booster, because we're apparently out, but you still need it. If we get more supplies down here, I'll try to find you. Just don't forget about it." Blair's brow furrowed. "I'll be right here," she said, answering Blair's obvious question. "We've got a couple of units stationary at each site. Just about everyone who needs transport has been taken care of. If they didn't have a back or head injury, we stuck them in any vehicle available. Gotta love those soccer moms."
> 
> Blair nodded. "Thanks for the food." They stopped just short of the steps to the building. "What now, Joel?" Blair asked.
> 
> "We've gotten all the survivors out. Check on the forensics guys." Joel scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'd like to see if they have any thoughts on the device. I think we were lucky."
> 
> "Lucky? This is lucky?" Blair said, incredulous.
> 
> "There were what, four boxes?"
> 
> "Yeah. Maybe eighteen inches square each."
> 
> "I suspect someone screwed up, or really didn't know what they were doing. That's enough volume to pack a lot more power than what we got. With the right materials -"
> 
> "You sound like a man who works for the bomb squad," Blair said softly.
> 
> Joel snorted softly. "Considering that you picked out the threat before it went off, I think you've been drafted right along with me."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> "Dad, please. The doctor says you need to stay." Daryl Banks shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. This role reversal thing was the pits. The physician had pleaded with him to talk some sense into his father. The guy didn't understand that Captain Simon Banks was a force of nature unto himself. His son was about as effective as a pup tent in a hurricane.
> 
> The man in the bed was having none of it. "Daryl, have you seen the people they're bringing in here? He says it, but he doesn't mean it. It's defensive medicine, or whatever they call it. They're stacking people right out of surgery in the hallway. Someone else needs this bed, and I need to get out of here. You don't need to be a rocket scientist to treat a concussion."
> 
> "No, Daddy, you need to be a doctor," Daryl said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He hovered beside his father as Simon pushed himself off the bed. "You're breathing like a tractor. This is a bad idea."
> 
> "Don't lecture me. I'm meditating. I learned it from Sandburg." Daryl rolled his eyes, reminiscent of his bygone teenage days. "I don't believe I just said that. Don't tell him. I'd have to hurt you even if you ARE my favorite son." 
> 
> "Dad, I'm your only son," Daryl said, solely because if he didn't say it, his dad would be disappointed.
> 
> Simon tossed the tattered remains of his shirt into the waste can. "Well, you can move up to being my favorite son if you find me something to wear. Go be busy - steal some scrubs as a last resort."
> 
> "I can't. They don't make scrubs in big and tall," Daryl said, folding his arms across his chest. "Just give it up, Dad. Stay here and get better."
> 
> Simon glared at his son. "Fine. You won't help, I'll handle it myself." With a heave, he ripped the top sheet off the abandoned bed and draped it around his shoulders. "Now let's go. Are you driving, or shall I hitch a ride?"
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> "I'm looking for Detective Ellison," a voice called out. "Anybody here by that name?"
> 
> Jim stood up. "Over here." He waited, mildly annoyed, while the two men and one woman sporting FBI on their jackets came his direction. Not that they didn't need the help, but their fresh-scrubbed faces and meticulous clothing irritated him no end. By comparison, he was a mess. Filthy, bloody, tired and generally pissed off. Without Sandburg close, he'd wound up with a headache of epic proportions. Even so, he wasn't ready to have the Feds roll into his territory and dismiss him into irrelevance.
> 
> Now that the wounded were out, he'd been meticulously examining the immediate blast area. Despite all the competing odors - blood, dust, smoke - he could clearly smell the C4. He'd also found some sections of tubing that he'd arranged on the floor like a jigsaw puzzle. A hand truck, like Sandburg had spotted at the Municipal Center? Could a bomb have just been rolled into their precinct like an ordinary delivery? It was beginning to look like it.
> 
> Jim suffered through the mandatory introductions. Agents Laughlin, Dion and Bennett, fresh from a three hour drive from Seattle. Jim nodded through the explanations and the acronyms of which team was rolling and where. The trio made no effort to inquire about anything Jim Ellison - the lowly local cop who'd been at ground zero since the first moments - had to say.
> 
> "We've assumed control of the scene," Laughlin said confidently. "Agent Dion can get your contact information and you can take a break."
> 
> "Is that so?" Jim said. Best to aim for 'neutral', but he was probably closer to 'pissed off' instead. "Maybe you might want to know what we've found so far. After you get my contact information, of course."
> 
> The sarcasm got Laughlin's attention. "I was under the impression you were a little overwhelmed in the aftermath for a full forensics analysis."
> 
> "Yeah," Jim drawled. "We've been a little busy, but we're not blind and clueless. We had C-Four here for sure." A little voice in his head whispered that this was incautious. He had that information from sentinel senses rather than a lab test, but at the moment, he didn't care. Their own forensics people had struggled up from the basement and cataloged the samples. He didn't miss the sideways glances between the agents. "You can confirm that with your own tests, since you don't trust our information."
> 
> "Look, Ellison, let's not get off on the wrong foot here," Laughlin said smoothly. "This is all standard procedure."
> 
> "for you, I'm sure it is. In my book, it's poor procedure not to question the actual witnesses who might know something," Jim snapped. "Two of our guys from Major Crime were in the Municipal Center right before the bomb there went off. That's one of the other bomb sites, and they had a few moments warning. Their device came in as packages dumped off by a guy in a UPS uniform." With a withering glance and no shortage of sarcasm, he continued. "Ooops! I hope it's okay I mention that - wouldn't want to mess up those standard procedures. "Is that so?" Bennett murmured, a bit taken aback. "We'll check with UPS on the location of their people."
> 
> "Don't bother, unless they had uniforms stolen recently. There was no UPS truck on site, and the delivery guy disappeared as soon as he positioned the bombs. It didn't come in as a legit delivery." He pointed to the area around his feet. "I'm finding sections of tubing that could easily have come from a hand truck."
> 
> More glances were exchanged. "We'll get someone over there right away. Preserve the evidence."
> 
> "You won't need to," Jim said, getting more angry by the second. He didn't appreciate the way the Cascade PD, even in its tattered state, was being impugned. "Captain Taggart commanded the bomb squad here until he joined Major Crime as a detective. He was at the other bomb site and took command from the start. He's not so stupid as to kick around evidence that we're going to need." Jim started to walk off.
> 
> "Detective!" Bennett called, not looking all that apologetic. "We do need that contact information."
> 
> "Right. With your great investigative skills you can look it up in the damn phone book." Jim rubbed his gashed chin with annoyance and kept walking.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Blair faded back a few steps, listening to Joel deal with the FBI personnel flooding into the Municipal Center. They'd both given their version of the minutes before the blast occurred. In Blair's estimation, Taggart was giving an impressive summary of what they'd gleaned in the investigation so far, considering the circumstances. 
> 
> He heard the name 'Ellison', and snapped out of his drifting. "You spoke to Jim?"
> 
> "Uh, yes," Agent Dion said. "We spoke with him, and then I was sent over here to follow up. I'm afraid we got off to a rocky start. He has a theory the device at the precinct came in the same way as what you observed here. The UPS delivery, right? We'll check that out, of course."
> 
> "Of course," Taggart said, almost amused by the dismissive tone of the agent. 
> 
> "Wait a minute," Blair said. All of a sudden, he wasn't quite so tired. Taggart might be amused by these guys, but their blasé attitude ticked him off. "We were here. I saw the guy come in. Don't you believe us?"
> 
> Bennett's face was impassive. "I've noted your observations in the preliminary incident report. Of course, we've just arrived. We're still formulating our assessments."
> 
> The experience had eroded Blair's usual patience. "You're kidding, right? What's to assess? Somebody set off three bombs in our city and we saw one of them do it," Blair said heatedly. With face, clothes and hands soiled with blood and dust, he didn't look like someone you should mess with.
> 
> Joel took a firm grip on Blair's elbow. "Well, if that's all, we'll leave you to it." With Blair in tow, he headed for the street. Blair was incredulous, and started to protest. "Not now, Blair. Come on outside."
> 
> Blair continued to resist. "They don't believe us! All the work you did - and Serena -they don't believe us!"
> 
> "Blair, calm down. The federal agencies - FBI, ATF - all have a set way coming into a local incident. It's part of drill to project that message of, 'Everything's fine, we're in control'. It doesn't mean anything."
> 
> "But -"
> 
> "It's all about establishing control of the scene and chain of command," Joel said calmly. "It's intended to calm everyone down and quell panic. They're not going to ignore us, but it might seem like it at first."
> 
> "This happens all the time?" Blair asked, allowing Joel to frog march him across the street.
> 
> "All the time. Now let's get back to the precinct. If they spouted the same spiel with our beloved Detective Ellison, we may have a different kind of bomb to defuse." 
> 
> "You got that right," Blair agreed. "Jim and Federal agents don't mix under the best of circumstances. Remember Brennan?"
> 
> "I thought they were friends," Taggart commented as he headed for the nearest Cascade PD vehicle.
> 
> "Friends," Blair said ruefully. "That was after they nearly killed each other. Okay, he did invite her to dinner eventually, but you had to be there."
> 
> Bone tired, they hitched a ride to the precinct. As had been done at the Municipal Building, temporary lights stretched down the block. Joel nudged his younger friend gently. "Blair! Take a look. That big white blob."
> 
> Blair couldn't stifle the snort. "You called it. Simon. Wearing a sheet."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Instead of 'connect the dots', it was 'follow the sheet', and they ultimately tracked down the other members of Major Crime, including Daryl and Simon. Banks' appearance was a bit of a shock. Their Captain was clearly not at his best. Daryl stood behind his father, arms folded and clearly disgusted. After a late growth spurt, he nearly matched his father in height, and they could overhear him arguing with his parent as the approached. Blair, ever tuned into the nuances of social situations, figured Daryl needed some moral support and went for a bit of irreverence. "Hey, Simon, love the Indian sari look. You starting a new fashion trend?"
> 
> "Shut up, Sandburg."
> 
> "Always with the social pleasantries. Good to see you, too."
> 
> "Don't worry, Blair," Daryl said. "He's still mad because I wouldn't steal scrubs for him to break out of the hospital."
> 
> "They don't make scrubs in his size," Blair said, happy to support Daryl's cause. "And those shoulders in toothpaste green? We don't want to go there." He smiled and gave Daryl a wink, who shrugged wearily in response. "Besides, Captain, maybe there was a reason they didn't want you to leave. You know, a medical reason?"
> 
> "Shut up, Sandburg."
> 
> "Exactly my point," Daryl said. "He has a concussion. He's going to kill himself." He came closer to Blair and noticed the bandage. "What happened to you?"
> 
> "I didn't duck fast enough. Do you know where Jim is?"" 
> 
> "So much for family loyalty," Simon snarled. "And you, Sandburg! You should be worried about your partner instead of lipping off to me. Jim just got hauled away by the FBI again. Go find them, and tell those Federal idiots I want my detective back before they throw him behind bars. I need to talk to him more than they do." 
> 
> Blair's eyes widened in alarm, imagining the disaster that could be brewing - a stressed out Jim Ellison, left unsupervised and uncensored with Federal agents. "Probably the understatement of the year," Blair said. "I'll go find him." He ducked under one of the multiple strands of yellow crime scene tape and jogged off towards the nearest knot of FBI jackets.
> 
> Daryl took the moment to get Joel's attention. 'Uncle Joel' had been a presence in his life when he was a small boy, and they were still close. "Thank God you're here. I wasn't joking. My dad really is going to kill himself. You've got to help me get him out of here." 
> 
> "How bad is your dad?" Joel asked quietly, taking Daryl by the shoulder. 
> 
> "If he wasn't so damn stubborn he'd keel over. Look at him. Even I can see his eyes aren't dilating together. The doctor didn't want him to go, and he said to rest, not run around down here. He's behaving like a total jerk."
> 
> "I can imagine. Don't let it get to you." Simon was distracted by an animated conversation with Rafe and Brown. "Walk with me. My car's down the block, and I have a plan." Five minutes later they had rejoined the group. Sandburg had retrieved an irate Jim Ellison, who was a lot more interested in his partner's injury than his captain's questions. Joel made his move quickly, well aware that an indirect approach would be more successful. Before Banks had time to protest, he'd shooed the others away and maneuvered his fellow captain to a place of relative privacy. 
> 
> "Here, Simon, put this on." Joel held out a well-used sweatshirt retrieved from the ever-present gear bag in his car. "It might be a little short in the length, but it's better than your toga imitation." He frowned in concern after a glimpse of the bruises across his friend's back and chest. The cuts on his wrist and hands were still oozing blood. Even the simple act of pulling on a shirt left the big man a wavering a bit. "Simon, I think it's time you paid attention to your body."
> 
> "Not you, too," Banks said. "I already heard it all from Daryl." He glared accusingly at his son. "This is a crisis, in case the two of you haven't noticed."
> 
> "It is a crisis. Simon, look at me!" he said sharply. "You mean well, but think about it. Cascade PD isn't really functional right now. The FBI people have moved in. What exactly do you think you're going to be able to accomplish here?"
> 
> "My people -"
> 
> "No, Simon. We've accounted for most of our own. For now, the Feds have control of the scene. The most important thing is for us to give the guys some rest so they can function for the next few days. Prepare for the time when we'll actually be able to do something." Simon immediately started to protest. "Look at them, Simon. Blair wasn't thirty feet from the blast, and he's been hauling innocent victims from the scene ever since. He's got a puncture wound in his shoulder and he's out on his feet. The other guys have been doing the same thing. They're in shock, mentally if not physically. What exactly do you want them to do? Run around so you can burn off some anger? Or maybe some guilt?"
> 
> Some of the fight went out of Simon. "You're right. I'll send them home. Maybe you can come with me to check with the FBI."
> 
> "Hold on there a sec," Joel said gently. "While you're at it, send yourself. You do realize you're probably the only member of the PD administrative team who's on his feet? By tomorrow, you may need to be acting Chief of Police. Think about it, Simon. What happens to the department if there's no one in authority to deal with the feds and the state?"
> 
> "Well - I -"
> 
> "I know you better than anyone else. You're walking around by virtue of sheer will power. What happens if tomorrow comes and you're not up to it?" He waited calmly, giving Simon time to consider the consequences. "Good, I have your attention. Your boy gave you good advice, and you've behaved like an idiot. Now stop treating your son like he was still sixteen and asking for the car keys. Let him take care of you tonight, so you can be strong for all of us tomorrow."
> 
> "Okay. I see your point." Simon pulled at the hem of the ragged sweatshirt. The whole idea of leaving ran against the grain.
> 
> Joel didn't intend to give him time to change his mind. "Good. So apologize to Daryl, go home with him, and send the rest of them home while you're at it. They won't want to go, but the same logic applies. Tell them we'll meet tomorrow morning." Simon's shoulders sagged and he nodded reluctantly. "Hey, Daryl!" Joel called. "Bring your car around, son. Your dad's feeling a little rocky." 
> 
> Grateful for the support, Simon wrapped an arm around Taggart's shoulder. "It's good to have a friend when you need one," he said softly. 
> 
> "Glad you remembered," Taggart answered with a knowing smile. "Finally."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> A relieved Daryl finally drove off with his father in tow. Rafe and Brown peeled off first, along with Taggart. Desperate to go home, Jim belatedly realized that getting his truck out of the parking garage might not be the easiest task. "Uh, Chief? How are we going to get the truck?"
> 
> Blair's face registered his patented 'oh no' look. "Crap. Where did we park? I'm so tired I can't remember."
> 
> "Back in the northeast corner, first level. We were later than usual, or we would have been right by the doors. Sweetheart would be buried under a big chunk of the first floor." Jim looked across the street at the chaotic scene. Multiple layers of yellow crime scene tape seemed to be everywhere. "We could always get a ride, but I'd really rather have the truck back."
> 
> Blair read his mind. "Could be tricky. How badly did you piss off the FBI before I got you out of there?"
> 
> "Bad enough," Jim said grimly. "I'm definitely not on their Christmas card list. What are we going to do? I want my vehicle."
> 
> "Let's go around to the 12th street entrance, the one that the maintenance vehicles use," Blair suggested. "It should be off the beaten track. All the action is out here in front."
> 
> They started walking, taking a roundabout route to stay out of the confusion. "I put you in charge of sweet-talking whoever we find, Chief."
> 
> Blair gave him a lopsided grin. "What if it's an FBI guy guarding the door, so to speak."
> 
> Jim snorted. "I'll hide behind a dumpster."
> 
> "Yeah, Jim. That'll work."
> 
> As luck would have it, two uniformed Cascade PD officers, Palmer and Jensen, were holding down the fort. Jim explained the problem, and found a sympathetic ear. The patrolman looked the pair of detectives up and down, noting their exhausted expressions and clothing still coated with dust. "Were you guys inside?"
> 
> Jim nodded. "I came down from the third floor. Sandburg was at the Municipal Center. He and Taggart damn near got their heads blown off. They carried the load for a long time."
> 
> Jensen grimaced. "I heard it was bad over there." Blair nodded, not willing to discuss any details. Jensen looked at his partner, and together they came to a wordless agreement. "Look, we're supposed to keep this place locked down tight, but we know you, and you guys have earned some consideration. Hug the back wall on the way out, and keep your headlights off if you can."
> 
> "Got it," Jim said. "If anyone hassles us, we'll keep you out of it."
> 
> The power was off, as expected. By long habit, Blair slipped behind Jim and let sentinel sight determine their route. When the two men turned a final corner a glimmer from the searchlights in the front of the building began to penetrate. Fine dust still filled the air, reflecting light into a diffuse veil.
> 
> Encouraged by the increased light, Blair stepped forward around his partner - and froze. His knees would no longer hold him, and he sank to the pavement, heaving in huge gulps of air, unable to speak.
> 
> "Sandburg! What?" Jim went down on one knee next to his partner. By instinct more than thought, his senses received a flood of information - the pounding heart, eyes glazed, clammy skin, breath coming in strangled pants. With a rush he realized what was happening. Hauling Blair to his feet, Jim frog marched him back the way they'd come.
> 
> Jensen saw them coming and rushed in to help. In the open air, settled on the curb, Blair seemed to snap out of it a bit. "Sorry. God, I'm sorry." He still struggled to bring his wild breathing back under control.
> 
> "He okay?" Jensen said.
> 
> "You got any water?" Jim asked. Palmer, watching from a few feet away, tossed a bottle of spring water his direction. "Thanks. Come on, Chief, take a swig. There you go."
> 
> "What happened?" Jensen asked again. "Is he sick?"
> 
> "My fault," Jim answered, his eyes never leaving Blair's face. "Bit of a flashback, I think."
> 
> "Oh, shit," Jensen murmured. "What can I do?"
> 
> "Sit with him a bit. Let me go get the truck." Jim raced off, afraid to leave his partner, but more afraid to keep him under the eyes of strangers for long. Mercifully, no one challenged him. By the time he was back and had Blair into the passenger seat, the worst seemed to be over.
> 
> It was to be a temporary reprieve. When they made it into the building and reached the loft, Blair was shivering uncontrollably. Jim pushed him to a seat on the couch, draped a heavy blanket around his shoulders, and quickly zapped a cup of tea in the microwave. Jim could almost see the images of carnage flicker across his friend's face. After another look at Blair's waxen face, and without further consultation, he located some sleeping medication left over from a previous injury. Without shame he stirred the capsules into the tea along with two giant scoops of honey.
> 
> "Here," Jim said. He sat down on the table, facing his partner. "Drink it down." Blair grimaced at the taste. "Finish it all off. The sugar will help with the adrenaline crash."
> 
> "Yeah, like that's what it was," Blair said sarcastically. "I feel like an idiot," he said, staring at the bottom of the mug.
> 
> "Don't talk like that. I won't press you to talk right now, but I'm pretty sure I know what happened." Blair's eyes asked the question. "Yeah, me too, hot shot. After my first fire fight, when everything was over. We lost three guys on that op. I damn near had a meltdown right in the barracks. To this day, I don't know what set it off."
> 
> "The dust," Blair said in an agonizing whisper. "The light coming through the dust."
> 
> Jim recalled the moments after the blast, the curtains of fine white dust settling from above. "Yeah. I know, and I wasn't right on top of the blast the way you were."
> 
> "Jim, - did you - were there - bodies?"
> 
> Jim sighed. Maybe Blair needed to talk this out, but it was an distressing subject. "Not many. The foyer of the precinct isn't really packed with people." He didn't mention finding DelMonico's body. It wasn't the time. "I'm sure it was worse for you and Joel."
> 
> Blair nodded, and his eyes glistened with tears. "It was really busy. Lots of lines, people all over. Both Juvenile and Family Court were in session. We kept finding kids - this little girl -." A stricken sob choked out all speech. "So - much blood - those fucking nails -," he stammered out between wracking sobs. 
> 
> Without hesitation, Jim wrapped his arms around Blair's shoulders, offering what words could not. With all his heart he wished he could drive away the pain he knew was tearing away at this fundamentally kind and gentle man.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim woke before dawn. Despite the sleeping meds, Blair had suffered through a restless night. Jim had been up and down the stairs several times to check on his partner before giving up. He spent the rest of the night on the couch.
> 
> On one of his silent forays, he straightened the snarled covers and realized there was heat coming from the shoulder wound. It could be an infection building. Besides, Blair hadn't gotten that tetanus shot. It was just prudent to get him in, no matter how busy the clinics and hospitals were. He started making calls. When he had the best option narrowed down, he went in to wake his partner. The poor guy would need a little while to rally.
> 
> He poured some juice and made what was hopefully his final call. "You can see him? Great. Hey, if you can bump him to the front of the line, that will be a gift! Right. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."
> 
> "Did you just wake me?" Blair asked, shuffling out of his room. In deference to his aching shoulder, he was dressed in gray sweats and an oversized T-shirt on loan from Jim. 
> 
> "Yeah, about five minutes ago. Sorry I couldn't let you sleep longer." 
> 
> "We're going to be where in fifteen minutes?" Blair asked. Despite his emotional state, he'd showered before collapsing in bed the night before. Now curls strayed wildly around his head, and deep shadows showed beneath his slightly bleary blue eyes. "I'm not going anywhere in fifteen minutes unless it's the end of the world. I ache everywhere. Even my hair hurts."
> 
> "You have my sympathy, but don't argue with me, Chief. Throw some clothes on, and I'll find you something to eat. Have some juice." 
> 
> "Excuse me? What are you cooking up, as if I don't have something to say about it? I'll argue with you if I damn well please." 
> 
> "I'm serious, Sandburg. Let's go."
> 
> Anger flashed across Blair's face. "I may have been a mess last night, but I remember the plan for this morning. We were to meet at eight fifteen at Simon's place, which means we don't have to leave before eight. Why are you trying to drag me out before seven?" He glanced at the clock. "Way before seven, as a matter of fact."
> 
> Jim ignored the outburst. Blair was groggy from the sleeping meds and generally out of sorts from the hell of the previous day. That was perfectly understandable, but even so, the Ellison plan for the morning was going to prevail. His partner's health and safety wasn't up for debate. Without a backwards glance, Jim searched the kitchen for sustenance. "North County Clinic is open early to take the strain off the hospitals. They're planning on us, so we'll be in and out. You need that tetanus shot."
> 
> "Oh for the love of God! I'm going back to bed." Blair threw his hands in the air and stomped angrily from the kitchen.
> 
> _Okay. So that could have gone better. Embarrassment and feeling like shit is always the perfect combination._ Jim took a breath and followed his thoroughly irate partner. Blair had flopped facedown on the futon and pulled a pillow over his head. Not the most receptive audience in the universe.
> 
> "Sandburg?" he said, careful about the inflection in his voice.
> 
> Blair raised a hand and delivered an emphatic one-finger salute.
> 
> "Okay, I deserved that. Ever see anyone die of tetanus, Chief? Not pictures in a book. I mean suffer and die, up close and personal."
> 
> Blair rolled over, the pillow perched under his chin. "No." After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Why?"
> 
> Jim sat on the foot of the bed. "Because I have. In Peru. It happens in places where medical care isn't routine. Without belaboring the point, it's a horrible, slow, painful way to die. You deserve better, but humor me. Accept my apology for being a jerk - again - get dressed and let me take you to get your shot. I promise to feed you."
> 
> Blair gave him a look that was somewhere between submission and mutiny. "This is so not fair." 
> 
> Jim wasn't above out and out bribery. "I'll make it worth your while. I won't make fun of the free-range chicken eggs that cost four times as much as the regular ones. I'll compliment your car." Even though his face was impassive, the eyes spoke volumes. "Please."
> 
> Blair gave an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, all right. But I'm going to get more than free-range chicken eggs out of this deal. We're buying low fat everything for the next month, and vegetables you haven't even heard of."
> 
> Jim pulled a pair of Blair's jeans out of the drawers and held them out. "You drive a hard bargain, but I'll live with it. Dress."
> 
> Two coffees, Danish and one tetanus shot later, they were on their way to Simon's. Jim looked at his partner. In addition to the shot, the doctor had re-bandaged his shoulder and insisted on a sling. Blair was awkwardly wedged into the corner of the truck with his head leaned back. He seemed to be lost in thought. "Are you asleep with your eyes open over there, or do you have an idea?" Jim asked.
> 
> Blair held his hand up to finish listening to the latest bulletin from the FBI playing on the radio. "Maybe. They keep saying that they are pursing possible links to Islamic extremism. Do you think they're just saying that? You know, to keep the public calm or manage the PR? Make it seem like they know what's going on?"
> 
> "I don't know," Jim said with a shrug. "I suppose in the current climate, it's the most obvious guess." His eyes narrowed just a bit. "Why do you ask? What are you thinking over there in that sleep-deprived brain of yours?"
> 
> "Hey, I slept."
> 
> "Sandburg, remember who you're talking to. You're on to something. Spit it out."
> 
> Blair frowned. "This may be shameless racial profiling, but the guy I saw with the packages didn't strike me as - well - you know."
> 
> Obviously, they hadn't discussed anything about the case on the ride home on the night before. Jim's interest was piqued. "Did you get a good look at the guy?" Jim asked. "All I know was what I got second or third hand." 
> 
> "Well, sort of." Blair frowned. "He was wearing a hat, but I think he had light brown hair. I think - sort of - damn, I'll just say it. He didn't have obvious Arabic facial features, and he certainly didn't have a dark complexion. I would have said garden-variety Caucasian. Shit! You know how I feel about stupid racial profiling of any kind. That's so disgusting. Forget I said anything."
> 
> Jim didn't know what to say. His partner's distress was obvious, but on a lot of levels, the observation made sense. "I don't know, Chief. Since nine-eleven, the US hasn't been overrun with blonde, blue-eyed Swedish grandmothers throwing grenades on planes. You've stated your objective description of a suspect. It's not wrong to make educated investigative decisions based on evidence. I don't know what should carry more weight than eye witness testimony from a trained observer."
> 
> "Look, the guy I saw could have been hired by anyone. For all we know, the FBI is right and Bin Laden was standing out back with a payoff and a fast plane back to Pakistan or wherever the hell he is."
> 
> "Or not." Jim looked at him seriously. "Look, at some point, we're going to get into this. Don't be afraid to bring it up when we meet with the guys, or anyone else, for that matter. You saw what you saw. It's more important to catch these guys than to build the self-esteem of the FBI, or satisfy some notion of political correctness."
> 
> Blair snickered. "Yeah. Like stroking the Feds has been a real concern for you, Jim."
> 
> "You hurt me. Everyone knows what a sensitive guy I am."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> The city streets were mostly deserted with the exception of an occasional emergency vehicle. Both men noticed the units from surrounding communities and state patrol vehicles. With a knowing eye, Jim credited the ubiquitous black SUVs to the invasion of Federal personnel. They avoided the downtown area and made the trip to Simon's home in record time. "Makes sense," Jim said. "People are scared. Schools are cancelled, and they've asked all but essential businesses to stay closed today. Better to keep people off the streets for now."
> 
> The cluster of vehicles along the street and in the driveway of the Banks home signaled that they were among the last to arrive. Blair was about to ring the bell when Jim pulled his hand back. "Daryl was just telling everyone to keep it down. Simon's still sleeping."
> 
> Daryl answered their soft knock. The members of Major Crime were grouped around the kitchen table, drinking Simon's best gourmet brew and conversing in whispers. Joel was on the phone, immersed in what appeared to be a serious conversation.
> 
> "How is he, Daryl?" Blair asked, his voice a whisper.
> 
> "The doc said if he was okay this morning, I could let him sleep. I woke him the last time around five-thirty." 
> 
> Blair wrapped an arm around the tall young man's shoulders. Daryl looked worried and exhausted. "How are you doing? Did your dad have a rough time last night? Did you get any rest at all?"
> 
> "He's more messed up than he wants to admit," Daryl said. "Every time I woke him, he had trouble figuring out where he was. I think he's in a lot of pain. The headache was just killing him." Now that he'd dumped his fears, he straightened, as if to say everything was okay. Definitely his father's son. "How about some coffee? It's pretty good, even if I made it."
> 
> "Don't kid me," Blair said with a chuckle. "Your dad taught you about coffee before you got training wheels on your bike."
> 
> Daryl broke out in a crooked grin. "He used to give me coffee when mom wasn't looking. She'd always chew him out. I was nutty enough without adding caffeine in."
> 
> "I rest my case."
> 
> By the time mugs had been poured, cream and sugar added, Joel was off the phone. "That was what's left of the city administration. It's pretty bad. We have only three people with Captain's rank who are functional right now. Me, Simon, and Ray Lui."
> 
> "Captain Lui is IA, and he's only been here a couple of years," Jim said. He scowled. "Lui's an okay guy, but does he have any real command experience besides breathing down everyone's neck and pushing paper? What does he know about running the department?" 
> 
> "Point taken," Joel said. "For the record, he agrees. I'm lobbying for Simon, if he's up to it, with Lui and yours truly assisting. I can run the investigative stuff, and he can handle personnel. The alternative is for the Governor's Office to put the whole department under interim command."
> 
> "Since when does the state rule Cascade's roost?" Simon appeared at the doorway, dressed in sweats and still barefooted. He frowned at Daryl. "I asked you to wake me when they got here."
> 
> Joel headed off the intergenerational dispute. "Fortunately, your son has more sense than you do. You needed the sleep more than you needed to watch us drink coffee." He pulled a chair from the table and set it in front of Simon. "Sit down before you fall down."
> 
> "Will my keeper allow me some coffee from my own pot?" Simon said sarcastically.
> 
> "Only if you quit giving him such a hard time," Joel said. "How bad is your headache?"
> 
> Simon started to protest and then shrugged. "Hurts like hell, and apparently we have about twenty people in my kitchen. So much for vision. Now keep it down and give me my coffee."
> 
> Joel nodded, and Daryl handed over a mug filled to the brim and a banana. Simon blew across the surface, took a sip and sighed in contentment. "That's better. Joel, you have any idea what the FBI is doing?"
> 
> "I asked for a forensic update. The bombs weren't terribly sophisticated. Straightforward timer, preset. No remote detonation. They were intended to be pretty powerful, but these weren't experts doing the work. As for the FBI, I'd get more out of them if there's a decision about command."
> 
> "Then let's get them moving," Simon said firmly. He gulped some coffee and slammed his mug down. 
> 
> "No," Joel said emphatically. "Simon, just listen for a second and hear me out. The governor is meeting with the mayor in his hospital room in an hour. Lui and I are in agreement that we should function in your support, so we can handle that meeting. By noon at the earliest we can get down to business."
> 
> "Great," Daryl said, with a note of triumph. "That means he goes back to bed and rests until then."
> 
> "Exactly," Joel said. He waved off Simon's protests. "Your job is to be ready to yell effectively by midday. Tell me you wouldn't do better with another few hours of sleep." He waited for Simon's slow, reluctant nod. "Okay, then. Rafe, Brown, I want you to get up to Major Crime. We're not going to be able to use the precinct freely for awhile. Swipe a couple of computers so we can set up a command center somewhere else. Blair, the FBI passed the word they want to re-interview you."
> 
> "Then I'm taking him," Jim said. "He's walking wounded. He can't drive himself anywhere with that sling." He shook a finger at his partner. "Don't even think about taking it off, either."
> 
> "Yes, Mom. Daryl, can you chauffeur your dad when you get the word?"
> 
> "Translation, sir, you're not driving today," Jim said with amusement. Why let the opportunity go to waste? "You won't be driving tomorrow, either. And since we don't trust you to listen to your own flesh and blood, shall we tuck you into bed before we go?"
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> With typical Federal efficiency, the FBI had commandeered the first two floors of a nearly complete office complex in the downtown area. All the basics were onsite, waiting for the new tenants to arrive. Other than delaying the future permanent occupants, the owners probably didn't object vociferously. The plain, unadorned white walls, along with the buzz of very serious people carrying side arms gave the place an ominous feel.
> 
> A long forty minutes had passed since they had arrived. Their reception had been a bit vague. Blair had expected something along the lines of signing his statement and a quick exit. Granted, everyone was busy, but he and Jim had work to do as well. He was getting very impatient. "If they keep us waiting much longer, they must not want to talk to me very badly, Blair said, drumming his fingers on the small table in front of them. "It's stupid for both of us to wait, Jim. Why don't you take off, or at least get us something to eat."
> 
> "I think I'll just stick around," Jim said, hoping his tone of voice didn't upset his partner. Being stuck off in this small, bleak room was setting his radar off. It was basic interrogation technique to leave a suspect isolated for a while, hoping to make them nervous and more vulnerable. The whole setup was beginning to worry him. "You did give them a statement yesterday, didn't you?"
> 
> "Both Joel and I did." Blair stretched his legs out in front of him, clearly bored, aggravated, and getting more fidgety by the minute. "I tried to be thorough, but I was pretty tired. Maybe I wasn't very coherent or something."
> 
> "Could be," Jim said. "Not without cause. You'd nearly gotten your head blown off and spent the next five hours rescuing victims." He paused and tapped his ear, their agreed upon signal that he was using his sentinel hearing. "Heads up. Someone's coming."
> 
> Moments later two agents appeared. Jim sized them up as typical FBI clones: both six foot, in their forties, brown hair with a shot of gray. With their navy windbreakers, white shirts and dark slacks, they were nearly twins. They introduced themselves briefly, but the chill in the reception was unmistakable. "Mr. Sandburg. Agents Caldwell and Borden. We'd like to discuss the statement you gave yesterday." They seated themselves in the folding metal chairs on the other side of the table.
> 
> "Okay," Blair said, a bit hesitantly. He looked at Jim, who raised a warning eyebrow.
> 
> "It's Detective Sandburg," Jim said, annoyed at the agent's failure to recognize his partner's status as a police officer. "I'm Detective Ellison. We're partners in Major Crime. What's this all about? We should be back on duty, not wasting time hanging around here doing nothing."
> 
> "Oh, yes, of course," Caldwell said. "We just need to clear up a few things with Sandburg here. Thanks for stopping by, Detective Ellison."
> 
> Jim ignored the implication that he should excuse himself. "If it's all the same to you, I'll stay. Sandburg was injured and can't drive, so I'm his ride." He gave the two agents a purposely insincere smile. "As I said, just what seems to be the problem?"
> 
> The two agents exchanged looks. Caldwell, who was apparently in charge, whispered softly in Borden's ear. Jim, already ill at ease with their demeanor, dialed up his hearing.
> 
> _"Ignore the partner for now. We can always get rid of him when things heat up."_
> 
> Under the table, Jim squeezed Blair's knee, the best he could do at the moment to warn his partner. Blair gave his foot a nudge. Message received.
> 
> Caldwell opened a file and lifted one of the pages. "All right. Sandburg, according to your statement, you saw - a UPS guy deliver the packages?" The tone of the question was insulting all by itself. "Problem is, UPS says they had no deliveries to the Municipal Center of that description. Do you have anything you'd like to add? Or amend?"
> 
> Blair looked at his partner, and seemed reassured by Jim's slight nod. "I saw what I saw. The guy came in, and I realized he'd just abandoned the handcart with the packages. I also pointed out that I couldn't find a UPS truck when I checked outside. It wasn't a regular delivery. The information from UPS shouldn't be a surprise."
> 
> Caldwell glanced at the file again. "Yeah, I noticed that. Considering the circumstances, you seemed to have had an awful lot of time to check around and - shall we say, shore up your story. Why is that?"
> 
> "Shore up my story?" Blair said with an incredulous look. "I'm not shoring up a story. I saw the stuff delivered, and it just seemed suspicious." "I don't think there's very much suspicious about a stack of boxes. None of the other people we've questioned seemed to notice it, and no one else sounded an alarm. Seems a little odd. You must have had a reason. Why you?" 
> 
> Blair seemed nonplussed, and fumbled for a coherent response. "Well, I'd just been talking with Captain Taggart about stuff, and it hit a nerve I guess."
> 
> "And just what might that - stuff - have been?" The atmosphere in the room, already tense, became decidedly hostile. "You talk a lot about bombs, Sandburg? You interested in that sort of thing?"
> 
> Jim struggled to keep his own mouth shut. The minute these two idiots put their cards on the table, he'd blast them. Blair was getting flustered, but tried to answer. "Captain Taggart transferred out of the Bomb Squad to work in Major Crime. We were talking about how hard it was to - you know, prepare for possible terrorism. It was just on my mind, that's all. I called him first, because he has the expertise. "
> 
> "I see," said Borden, taking some notes. "You just happened to be in the Municipal Center. You don't have an office there. You weren't there as an officer of the court." His tone turned accusing. "You have these little chats about terrorism often?"
> 
> "No, of course not!" Blair said, ready to sputter out a more vehement defense. Jim quickly put a hand on his knee again, signaling him to say no more.
> 
> "Spit it out, guys. What are you fishing for?" Jim demanded. He had no intention of letting these guys back Sandburg into a corner.
> 
> Caldwell checked the file again, and smiled wolfishly. "Just some background information about your partner caught our eye. Sandburg, you seem to have problems with the truth in the past, and an affinity for press conferences. Life a little dull? Maybe you like the attention, the bright lights. Maybe you wouldn't mind setting yourself up to play hero for the day."
> 
> "You have got to be kidding me -" Blair protested, his hands clenched into tight fists.
> 
> Caldwell interrupted him. "Maybe you like it enough to arrange for a bomb you could conveniently discover." Caldwell slammed his fist on the narrow table between them. "Tell us the truth before you get in any deeper."
> 
> "That's enough!" Jim roared, coming to his feet. "Did you even bother to run this by anyone before you dragged my partner in here to accuse him?"
> 
> Caldwell gave him a sorrowful look. "Detective Ellison, we understand loyalty to your partner, but you might want to get out of here before you get tangled up in this any further," Caldwell suggested. His gaze shifted scornfully to Blair. "And Sandburg, you better come clean with us and fast. Rainier University gave you a slap on the wrist, but this is a whole different ballgame. We have a serious crime to solve here. A Federal obstruction charge isn't anything to play around with."
> 
> Jim was on his feet, ready to do battle when Blair's hand clamped around his forearm. Blair's voice was low and angry. "I was there because Captain Taggart asked me to walk with him to the DA's office. We were taking a break. It was his suggestion, with no prompting from me. Completely impromptu and spontaneous. He'll confirm that, if you bother to ask him." His body nearly vibrated with anger. "And before you say another word, Joel Taggart has a lifetime of honorable service to this city and his country before that. You might be able to try to throw me under the bus, but you'd better think twice before you try to drag Taggart into this - this charade." He stood up very slowly, keeping a firm hold of Jim. "I've told you everything I know. You either arrest me, or I'm walking out of this room right now." He took two steps back, staring hard at Caldwell.
> 
> "We'll be in touch," Caldwell said.
> 
> "That's what I thought," Blair said. He turned and left the room, with Jim on his heels.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> "That is so much bullshit! Rafe, did you hear this?" Henri Brown's massive bulk loomed over Blair, although his presence wasn't designed to intimidate. His presence made Blair feel physically small, but certainly not threatened. His friends cared about him, apparently without hesitation. The shock and despair that had washed over him during the FBI statement-turned-interrogation ebbed. No matter what the FBI thought, these guys were firmly in his corner. An irate Jim had deposited him here, in safe company, while he hunted down Taggart or anyone else with potential influence over the FBI. Jim hoped to nip the whole thing in the bud with a furious response. Blair had pleaded with him to let the whole thing ride, but Jim was having none of it.
> 
> Until the structural engineers could certify the safety of the damaged Central Precinct building, elements of the Cascade PD were farmed out through the downtown area wherever temporary quarters were available. The personnel of Major Crime were gathered in a suite of offices volunteered by an insurance firm, just two blocks west of the precinct. The owners of the firm, eager to do their civic duty, had contributed a coffee maker, barebones furniture, access to the soda machine, a printer, phones and their good will. Rafe and Brown, in charge of holding down the fort and connecting with their colleagues as they straggled in, had made an impressive start at getting them up to speed. With a few computers salvaged from the bullpen and borrowed office supplies, they were well on the way to reconstructing a functional unit. 
> 
> "Are they nuts?" Rafe asked, joining his partner. He grabbed a chair and sat next to Blair. "Did they have any explanation at all for accusing you?"
> 
> "Not that I can figure out," Blair said. "My best hunch? I think someone did a background check, stumbled across the dissertation mess, and jumped to a conclusion." He stared at the floor, feeling depression looming again. "Maybe they have cause."
> 
> "Don't you even think such a thing," Brown said adamantly. "It's like the damn Atlanta Olympic bombing. Remember that guy? They used that case as a study in one of my Criminal Justice classes. The security guard who found the bomb, reported it and got the area cleared? He went from hero to suspect over nothing. Some previous employer called and disparaged his character, leaked some crap to the newspapers, and the FBI took it from there. It was a total red herring." Brown paused and frowned. "If I remember correctly, the info came from the president of a college he'd worked for. Blair, you don't think..."
> 
> "Chancellor Edwards?" Blair shook his head. "I suppose anything is possible. Just don't mention it to Jim. We have enough to do without getting him sidetracked with her. I can just imaging Jim storming up to Rainier like the wrath of God." 
> 
> "Well, I think Jim's right. Beat the thing before it gets any traction. They have people running all over, checking stuff out, without coordinating the information. Some over-ambitious agent took a chance on a quick score. Taggart will set them straight," Rafe said. "I would have thought better of the FBI. They're supposed to be so great at this stuff."
> 
> "They're also supposed to check every possibility," Blair said, trying to defuse the situation and remain calm himself. "I still can't quite figure it. The news releases have all been terrorism stuff. But honestly, guys, can you see me with the Taliban? I could chat with them about my bar mitzvah."
> 
> That brought a snicker from both his friends, and broke the tension. "Uhm, that would be 'no'," Brown said, with a small dose of his usual humor. "There you go, Sandburg. Anyone with half a brain is going to realize the Jewish former-academic police officer isn't a likely recruit for international terrorism." His eyes crinkled with his usual wiseacre humor. "Although I think you could grow a dynamite beard. I hear those dudes are big on beards."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim was routed through four different temporary offices before he finally tracked down Taggart. The new headquarters of the Cascade PD was the basement of the main branch of the Cascade City Library. Aggravated with the lost time, it was a relief to find both Taggart and Captain Lui, surrounded by a skeleton crew and a forest of whiteboards. With a practiced eye, Jim could see the bones of a reconstructed Cascade PD being worked out. It gave him pause when he realized one of the whiteboards had his own name scrawled across the top. A combination of curiosity and panic drove him to ask before he buttonholed the two captains about Sandburg's situation.
> 
> "What's this?" he demanded, pointing at his own name written in block letters.
> 
> Taggart looked up from the chaotic fan of papers spread on the table before him. "Who did you think would be acting commander of Major Crime? That shouldn't be a surprise."
> 
> "I don't want it," Jim blurted out. "Get someone else."
> 
> Captain Lui gave him a withering look. "Tell someone who cares, Ellison. We're trying to make this work in a horrible situation. Why don't you bop on over to the hospital? Captain Diaz is still unconscious. Ray Phillips lost so much blood before they got to him they got to him he may not make it. I'm sure both of them will be happy to take your place. No problem."
> 
> Lui's sarcasm cut Jim to the core, and he knew it was well-deserved. "I apologize, sir."
> 
> Lui nodded, but wasn't particularly placated. "You were a military officer, you have command experience, you know the unit, and you're the obvious choice. Now get over here, and quit critiquing." 
> 
> Jim wanted to protest again, but resigned himself to the inevitable. "What would you like me to do first, Captain?"
> 
> Lui thrust a fairly intimidating pile in his direction. "You, meaning Major Crime, is going to be taking the lead on our end of the investigation. How soon do you think your unit can be operational?"
> 
> "I - excuse me, Sir, I was just there a few minutes ago. Brown and Rafe seemed to have things under control. I'd say we're ready to go right now. If you could excuse me, I do have something urgent I need to speak to Captain Taggart about."
> 
> Lui didn't hide his impatience. "Well, spit it out. We're behind and losing ground, if you know what I mean."
> 
> Jim would have preferred to have this particular conversation privately, but the circumstances were against him. "Joel, you know that stop we made with the FBI? They didn't want to review Sandburg's statement. They basically accused him of planting the bomb so he could find it and be a hero." He nodded at Taggart's horrified expression. "Not that it makes any sense. We called them on it and walked out, but I don't want anything to get started. Once an accusation is made - well, you know."
> 
> Taggart came to a complete halt. "Give me the details," he said grimly. He wasn't pleased with what he'd heard. Lui didn't look too happy, either.
> 
> Jim related the abridged version. "I think we should kill this before any rumors get started."
> 
> "I agree, Jim, but you leave this alone. Let us handle it." Taggart picked up a stack of folders and papers. "Lui's right. We need to get our guys started on this stuff. The FBI has farmed out parts of the investigation, and Major Crime is doing follow-up on possible sources of the explosives. We have another meeting with the Federal liaison. Who were the agents that buttonholed Sandburg?"
> 
> "Borden and Caldwell."
> 
> Joel jotted a note to himself. "Consider it done. Get rolling. I'll contact you about Sandburg as soon as I know anything."
> 
> Jim accepted the paperwork, but made no move to leave. Taggart put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're worried, but it's ludicrous. I can back him up. Remember, I'm the beached whale of law enforcement; too big and old to get rid of, and too stinky to ignore. Just keep him close, and I'll take care of it."
> 
> Jim saw the sincerity in Taggart's eyes. He'd need to trust him. Without another word, he nodded and left.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Reluctantly, Jim went back to their temporary bullpen, reviewed the assignments and divvied up the troops. Besides their other concerns, at least this part of police work was familiar and straightforward. Ask questions, make connections, follow leads, those were things they could do in their sleep. Most of the people or organizations on their lists were in some way related to explosives or the electronics supplies needed for the timing and fuses. They all regretted not having regular access to Taggart's expertise, but Joel had taken the time to quickly sketch some notes to get them started. They divided into their regular teams and dispersed.
> 
> After hours of fruitless activity, Jim called a halt. At the request of the loose - and sometimes confusing - coalition running Cascade, any business close to the downtown core was closed. Jim pointed the truck toward the suburbs and located a sandwich place that looked promising. They ordered subs, potato salad and brownies. Jim added an order of chili. Blair opted for broccoli cheddar soup he thought sounded good.
> 
> "You're a little late for the antibiotics, Chief. Can you take them with food?" Jim asked.
> 
> Blair was intent on his soup, but nodded. "It's okay, but they kind of upset my stomach. I wanted to eat a little bit first."
> 
> "Not a bad idea. Just don't forget." A waitress brought their sandwiches. Although Jim couldn't see it, somewhere in a back room a television was tuned to a local news show broadcasting around the clock in the wake of the crisis. "Miss? You hear anything worth repeating on the news?"
> 
> She looked surprised. "I would have thought you guys would know. What, they don't tell Cascade's finest?"
> 
> "Communications are a little spotty," Blair said. "It's been a few hours since we've been back downtown. How'd you know we were -"
> 
> "Cops? I saw your holster when you were adjusting your sling." She gestured toward his arm. "Did that happen yesterday?"
> 
> "Unfortunately, yes. The broadcast?"
> 
> "They're not saying much. Lots of speculation. What do you call 'em, talking heads? The FBI is running an eight-hundred number for people to use if they saw anything unusual." She put a hand on her hip. "You guys tell me. What qualifies as unusual? Somebody left me a five dollar tip yesterday. That's pretty damn unusual." 
> 
> "Probably not what they had in mind," Jim said, appreciating her sense of humor. "Does that mean we need to leave a ten-dollar tip?" 
> 
> "Honey, you keep your money in your pocket. The police and emergency folks - well, let's just say we're happy you guys are around. The owner's already making up a little care package for you on your way out."
> 
> "That was nice," Blair said quietly as she left. "Jim, I have to ask you. Does it seem a little weird that no one has claimed responsibility?"
> 
> "Yeah. Groups usually pull this crap to make a point. You can't make a point without going public. Although, I suppose the Bureau could be keeping it quiet."
> 
> "Our Federal colleagues are being pretty public with everything else." Blair sat quietly, absently trying to balance his spoon on the rim of his soup bowl. "What if a group claimed the bombing, but no one was getting the message? Something weird like that."
> 
> Jim polished off the remainder of his sandwich. "I suppose it's possible. But you get back to the same issue. The real bomber would keep trying until the message was received. They might even set off another device, perish the thought." He helped himself to one of the brownies. "What's bugging me is the UPS thing. Boxes and a hand truck are no problem. What about the uniform?"
> 
> "Jim, you do realize there's an urban legend about UPS uniforms and terrorists. It was all over the internet a few years ago and it was a giant hoax."
> 
> "Maybe it was. And maybe the hoax spawned an idea for the real thing. It wouldn't be the first group of crazies to get an idea off the internet."
> 
> Blair shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. Planting three bombs in three places, detonating them within seconds of each other - that isn't an accident, and it's a lot more work than just a single strike. Someone wanted the attention in a serious way. Why let it go to waste, so to speak?"
> 
> "Whatever the reason, I don't think they'll be shy for much longer. Come on, Chief."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> They headed back to Major Crime's temporary lair in the insurance office. Initial results were disappointing, and the returning detectives were generally despondent and frustrated. Jim knew it was his responsibility to keep everyone energized for the task ahead. Try as he might, the results spoke for themselves. Other than weeding out possibilities, their persistent efforts had yielded almost nothing.
> 
> Simon joined them. His half-day at the helm of the Cascade PD had taken its toll. Even with able assistance from Taggart and Lui, he looked drawn and exhausted. Daryl watched unhappily from in a quiet chair off to the side, keeping a close eye on his dad. Simon, for his part, brushed aside repeated questions about his physical status. Only after Blair threatened to withhold any additional information from himself and the other detectives did Simon finally admit to a crushing headache. Daryl shifted uneasily in his chair. Without a word he dug a package of aspirin out of his pocket and plunked it in front of his dad along with a bottle of water. Simon glared at his son, and Daryl glared right back. He managed to acknowledge Blair's surreptitious 'thumbs-up' without losing his composure and laughing outright. Even frustrated and worried, Daryl didn't miss the humor in this temporary role reversal with his father.
> 
> Joel arrived ten minutes later. The first order of business was Blair's situation with the FBI. "Jim, you called it right. Some lower level agents were freelancing. I won't defend their logic, but they were hoping for a fast break in the case. It's taken care of." Joel settled into a chair and looked sternly at Jim, who clearly wasn't satisfied with the explanation. "If you have thoughts of pursuing this, forget them. I was pretty free with my opinion. Apparently, the whole thing started because there's no confirmation of a UPS delivery at the other two sites. Things spiraled out of control from there."
> 
> "What did you just say?" Simon demanded. His head snapped up with shock on his face.
> 
> Joel gave him an odd look. "I said that no one can confirm the other bombs were delivered as UPS packages."
> 
> Simon seemed stunned. "But - I can. I saw the guy. I saw him come in with the packages." He stared at Joel, and his voice escalated in anger. "That's how it happened? How long have you known this? Why didn't you tell me this last night?"
> 
> The last thirty hours had taken their toll on Taggart. His normal composure slipped. "I don't know, Simon. Maybe it didn't come to mind while I was hip-deep in a bomb scene for hours. Or maybe I got sidetracked counting our own people among the dead and wounded, including you. Why didn't you mention that yourself? I can't read minds."
> 
> Simon rubbed fretfully at his forehead, calming immediately. "Damn it. I should have. I don't think I remembered until just now. How did I not remember that?"
> 
> "Nearly getting your head blown off would do it," Joel said gently. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Simon. I'll give the FBI a call. It all fits with what Jim found in the wreckage at the PD, another piece of information they brushed aside. It's about time they started listening." He pulled out his cell immediately.
> 
> Jim looked at Blair, clearly recalling their earlier conversation. "Sir, do you remember anything about the UPS guy you saw?"
> 
> Simon thought for a moment. "Not much. I was getting coffee. It was just something that caught my eye. If I recall correctly, I was thinking I'd be grateful to trade places with him." He paused. "Caucasian, less than six foot, not bulky. He was wearing a ball cap and I didn't see his eyes." He thought for a moment and added, "He had a blond mustache."
> 
> "Crap," Blair said softly. 
> 
> They waited while Joel contacted the FBI command. The conversation was brief. "They're going to want to talk with you, Simon. I told them to send someone over here. You're not running around town at their beck and call, and we've done enough legwork for today. On the good side, that should completely clear the air of any question about Blair's story."
> 
> Jim gave his partner another searching look and broached the subject both men were thinking. "Joel, is the FBI still referring to this as Islamic terrorism? Sandburg said the same thing as Simon. The guy with the packages wasn't overtly Arabic. He and I talked about it earlier. Maybe we're barking up the wrong tree altogether." Joel nodded, realizing what Jim was hinting at. "I suppose we should point this little oversight out to the people in charge." Joel looked at the ceiling. He gave them a rueful grin. "I'm sure they'll respond very positively to that thought."
> 
> Brown gave an audible snort.
> 
> "We can leave that problem for later," Simon said. "What happened otherwise?"
> 
> "Pretty much what we figured. Like it or not, Simon, you're acting Chief for the duration. Warren's in really bad shape. Jim's going to keep running Major Crime." He gave Jim a look that settled any further thoughts he might have about relinquishing command as soon as possible. The other detectives nodded solemnly, and Joel continued to outline the temporary reporting structure with the rest of the department. Blair edged away and retrieved his ever-present laptop from his backpack. He slipped his annoying sling off to keyboard more easily and started a computer search. Jim noticed his withdrawal and left him alone. If Blair had an idea, he knew from experience it was better to let him run with it.
> 
> Jim gave his own report and listened carefully to what the others had to say. Nothing was particularly encouraging. They were debating about where to take the investigations next when Jim heard a quiet gasp from Blair.
> 
> "Shit. I don't believe it."
> 
> Jim did an about face. "Chief?" All eyes went to Sandburg, seated at the back of the room. The computer was open on his lap and he frantically clicked away at the laptop keys. "What have you got?"
> 
> Blair spoke as he continued to work. "Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking? That the only terrorist attacks Cascade has ever had - both of them - were distinctly homegrown."
> 
> They all seemed to have the same thought simultaneously. Henri Brown shook his head. "It doesn't sound wild or crazy to me. Who hates the whole city of Cascade more than those Sunrise Patriots and that nutcase Kincaid? It makes more sense than al-Qaeda showing up. Those religious fanatics are interested in New York or DC, not us out here on the coast."
> 
> "How many times do we have to lock those guys up?" said Rafe. "They've got to all be under lock and key. Tell me none of those sons-of-bitches are out running around."
> 
> "Offhand, I don't know. But guess what?" Blair said grimly. He finally looked up from the computer screen. "Yesterday was the anniversary of the date Kincaid was sentenced right here in Cascade to life without parole."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> The room erupted. Brown and Rafe immediately went to the two scavenged computers they had set up.
> 
> "I'll access the reports," Rafe said. "Henri -"
> 
> "I know. State Penitentiary in Walla Walla. I swear to God, if they let some of those bastards walk early..."
> 
> "The Patriots don't exactly have a website," Blair muttered, working furiously on his own laptop. "I'm not getting anything recent here. They could be communicating, but they could be using a chat room, or twitter, or I don't know what."
> 
> "Why wouldn't they claim responsibility?" Jim asked to no one in particular. He was hanging over Blair's shoulder, reading the screen as he worked.
> 
> "Kincaid's locked up. The group has to be in shambles," Simon commented. "What's the point?"
> 
> "What if it's internal?" Blair said. "A 'we're still here' signal to the membership. Or a recruitment thing? Like an initiation rite before becoming a trusted member."
> 
> Henri got their first hit. "I don't believe it! Three of the underlings we arrested got out six weeks ago." He looked at the others, absolutely appalled. "The usual excuses. Overcrowding and budget cuts. What, they don't have a nice drug dealer they could turn loose?"
> 
> "Print their rap sheets, and contact their parole officers. I could care less if it's after hours. Call the local departments and get people out of bed," Simon ordered crisply. Of course, their scavenged printer didn't work on the first try. Daryl pitched in, loading paper and reattaching the cables.
> 
> "What about some of their old haunts? Or people that helped them in the past?" someone asked over the chaos. "Anybody remember their old hangouts?"
> 
> "We need mug shots of every known member," Jim said. "Captain, you and Blair need to see if a face -"
> 
> "What face? Sounds like something we ought to know." 
> 
> Jim stood up to confront none other than his old friends, Agents Borden and Caldwell. He folded his arms across his chest. "They sent you two. What a surprise," he said sarcastically. The rest of the room went dead silent, a roomful of unfriendly eyes boring into the two visiting agents. "Guys, let me introduce our two heroes. They're the ones who came up with the brilliant idea that Sandburg planted the bomb that damn near blew his own head off."
> 
> "We're here to see Captain Banks," Borden said in a flat tone. He ignored Jim's provocative statements.
> 
> "That would be me." Simon scowled, and didn't rise from his chairs. After all the crap that had gone down, he had no incentive to smooth over the situation.
> 
> "Good enough," Agent Borden said. "If you'll step outside with us, please."
> 
> "I don't think so," Simon said. "Everyone in this room has my trust." His expression telegraphed that his statement might not include the two of them. "We'll keep this short. Just before the blast went off a stack of packages was delivered to the Administrative Center. I saw it though the window wall of the main conference room. Four or five boxes, stacked on a hand truck. A man in a UPS uniform left them next to the wall and disappeared into a hallway. The explosion came less than a minute later." The two agents exchanged glances. "What a surprise. My statement matches exactly with Sandburg's. Caucasian, male, five foot ten, one sixty, sporting a blonde mustache, and wearing a ball cap pulled down low. I didn't see his eyes."
> 
> There was a long pause. "Captain, if we could speak with you privately..."
> 
> "An exact match to your earlier information, Agents, and speaking to me privately isn't going to make you look any less like idiots. Not to mention that anyone in this room can vouch for the fact that Sandburg and I did not coordinate our stories. You'd better think twice the next time you think about questioning the loyalty of one of my detectives." The two agents seemed at a loss for words. Simon gave them no quarter. "You have the information you came for. Have it processed and send a copy over for my signature. We're done here."
> 
> Caldwell wisely decided to let that one go and snapped his notebook shut. "So, what were you guys all excited about when we walked in here?"
> 
> "Just batting around some possibilities," Jim said snidely. The others in the room took their cue from him. "You know, just one of those flighty, local things. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested."
> 
> "Look, guys, we were just doing our jobs here. No hard feelings."
> 
> "Sure," Jim said. "No hard feelings at all." Everything about his body language screamed otherwise. The other members of Major Crime closed ranks. The silence that ensued was oppressive.
> 
> "Okay," Caldwell said, with an exaggerated wave of his hand. "We were wrong. We're sorry. A little cooperation here would be nice. You guys have a lead or not?"
> 
> "We'll let you know," Blair said, and rose to stand at Jim's side. "Here in Cascade we don't throw accusations around without being able to back them up with evidence. We're kind of picky about that kind of thing."
> 
> "Well, I'll see you gentlemen out," Simon said smoothly, and stood. "Captain Taggart and I were just headed back to the command center. Our work here is done." He gestured toward the door. As the two agents, Daryl and Taggart exited, he spoke to the remaining members of Major Crime. "Jim, you can handle things from here. Sandburg, give Eileen Franklin a call, and have her see me when she's finished with you."
> 
> Jim gave the rest of the group a wicked smile. Eileen Franklin was the departmental sketch artist, and one of the best.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> "Okay, Blair, take a look at that." Franklin twisted the laptop so Blair could view the results of forty-five minutes with her specialized software.
> 
> Blair examined the screen closely. The two of them were tucked into one of the lone booths in Eileen's favorite internet café. Jim, under duress, was off attending a departmental meeting as Major Crime's acting leader. "I think that's right."
> 
> "You don't sound very sure. Should I change something?"
> 
> Blair gave her a distressed look. "It's not the sketch. I just wish I'd gotten a better look at him. I didn't give you much to go on."
> 
> "Don't worry about it. You said yourself that there were people milling all over that place. Why give a delivery guy any particular notice?" She closed the laptop. "Don't second-guess yourself. Some people don't have a good visual memory, but you do. When you catch this guy, I think this is going to turn out to be surprisingly accurate."
> 
> "I wish I had your confidence." Blair studied the handmade mug in his hand. Despite Eileen's talent, the whole exercise left him with a feeling of futility.
> 
> "I've been doing this for a long time, Blair. You didn't overstate what you remembered, and that almost always gives us the best results in the long run. I'll go see Captain Banks. We should at least be able to tell if the same person made all the deliveries. What about you?"
> 
> "Back to our temporary quarters - it's sort of a cross between gypsy caravan and office. Rafe and Brown are pulling every mug shot ever associated with the Patriots. We'll start chasing down any leads on the three guys who were released."
> 
> "I'll print a copy of the sketch for you." Eileen tapped a few buttons on the portable printer that was part of her working setup. "I predict someone on the parole board will have egg on their face," Eileen said.
> 
> "More like an entire omelet." Blair shook his head. "For the life of me, I can't think of why they wouldn't give us any warning."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim would have given any excuse to escape from his personal version of management hell. After a long session hammering out chain-of-command and details of how the department would function from their temporary quarters, they'd moved on to coordination with the Feds. The two men leading the investigation, one from Homeland Security and one from the Bureau, gave a concise summary. In Jim's mind, the entire presentation was just a little too general. Either they didn't trust the state and local officials, or they really didn't know much. He gritted his teeth with impatience. After years in the military and covert-ops, he understood need-to-know, but this was ridiculous. The usage of the Cascade PD, even in its hampered condition, seemed like busywork. The FBI wasn't looking to the locals for any real assistance.
> 
> He noted with grim amusement that no formal mention was made of Simon's confirmation. The whole UPS thing was subtly being woven in without actually saying much. Although it would be nice for Sandburg to get a little credit, Jim figured making a few FBI agents squirm would have to do. He didn't feel one bit guilty about keeping their thoughts about the Sunrise Patriots private among the members of Major Crime. Considering the way the FBI had handled their other information, it was just as well they get something more concrete before sharing. In fact, a couple suspects in cuffs, dumped as a surprise in front of the cameras during one of their news briefings, might be just about right.
> 
> Not that he was malicious or anything. A little humility never hurt anyone. 
> 
> With an amused smile, he diverted his attention back to Agent What's-His-Name. "Okay. That's it for today. Our next briefing will be tomorrow at the same time. Pick up your assignments, and good hunting." 
> 
> Jim joined the crush at the back of the room and waited his turn. If they only knew.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Chin in his hand, Blair stared at the twenty plus photos assembled on the wall. The known membership of the Sunrise Patriots stared back at him. He forced himself to study each face in isolation, concentrating intently. More than once a chill crawled up his spine as an earlier memory swept over him. The hostage-taking at the PD still haunted his dreams, and he didn't relish getting reacquainted with these guys. It didn't take much to stir up the coals of that particular flame.
> 
> For the moment, he'd kept the sketch artist's work concealed in his bag. He'd hoped that one of the known villains would strike a chord, that he could match a name with a face. Again, he fretted over the lack of detail he'd been able to provide.
> 
> Rafe, seated next to him, touched him on the arm. "What do you think, Blair?"
> 
> "Nothing jumps out at me. I wish it did." He handed Eileen Franklin's sketch. "Put this up, for what its worth. Maybe Simon will have better luck." "I guess it was a little much to hope for," Brown said, joining them. "I've managed to contact two of the three parole officers assigned to the guys who were released."
> 
> "They didn't report," Blair said glumly.
> 
> Henri nodded. "They both skipped last week's appointment. Neither parole officer had put out an alert on the network. I kind of bit their asses, but I guess its normal procedure to give a few days' grace. Besides, the guys just had their case loads double from all the recent releases." He shuffled through some papers. "I put all the info in that spreadsheet you made, Hairboy. It's a damn sight better than all my notes on paper towels and napkins." He handed two stapled copies to Blair. "That's everything we know about the known members of the organization. One for you and one for Jim."
> 
> Blair nodded. "All their previous know addresses. Good thinking, H."
> 
> "It's a start," Henri said. "We can start beating the bushes and hope for the best."
> 
> "Look, we're all whipped," Rafe said. "We'll divide up the list, and let's hit it tomorrow, okay?" The others nodded in weary agreement. As they milled around gathering their belongings and locking up, Rafe snapped his fingers, remembering that Sandburg's ride was elsewhere. "Blair, since Jim's not here, do you need a ride back to the loft?"
> 
> Blair glanced at his watch. He'd planned on waiting for Jim, but maybe it was a better strategy to go home and get some food ready. "You know, I'll take you up on that. I'll leave Jim a message, and he can head home the minute his meeting gets out."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> The loft seemed especially deserted and quiet. Blair quickly surveyed the selection in the freezer. Despite his good intentions, the past two days seemed to catch him all at once. He felt too tired to lift so much as a finger to keep starvation at bay. He decided on a container of homemade chicken vegetable soup. A little more digging produced similarly frozen bran muffins. He was fairly certain he'd added raisins and nuts to this batch. He dumped the frozen blob of soup into a pan and set the burner on low, and gave the muffins a short zap. 
> 
> After a quick shower, he dove into the recesses of the fridge. His search revealed feta crumbles, shredded sharp cheddar and some shredded pepper jack. If Jim needed to sate his desire for saturated fat and additional calories, he could melt his choice of cheese in the hot soup. Forget a salad. He could throw some carrot sticks on the plate for a little color and crunch. As fate would have it, they had exactly four remaining bottles of beer, two for each.
> 
> Blair helped himself to one and moved to the living room. He had a lot to think about. Joel had warned him that the horror of the actual bombing would lurk in the subconscious, and would eventually demand attention. As usual, Joel was right. He'd done his best and, logically, he knew it wasn't his fault that the bomb went off in the first place. It wasn't his fault that he hadn't connected the dots and gotten everyone out of the building. He'd been a victim like everyone else. His soul didn't have to be shattered by a horrific act of violence.
> 
> In spite of Joel's preemptive warning, he'd still been unprepared when he and Jim had gone for the truck. God, why had he broken down like that in front of Jim like that? That thought was immediately followed by a more honest realization. Jim was his best friend. Who else could be possibly trust those feeling to if not Jim Ellison? 
> 
> Jim had been more than understanding. Today had gone okay, but he knew enough psychology to realize there was more trauma to be dealt with. As his mother would say, he needed to process. As a matter of fact, he could almost hear Naomi telling him to find his center, to release the negativity. When a case got to be too much, he and Jim usually stood on the balcony and watched the water. Blair had no desire to brave the damp, chilly Cascade night in search of contemplation. He settled for some new-age music that Jim would undoubtedly hate and lit the three fat, white candles on the coffee table. 
> 
> Meditation was usually his refuge, but his efforts to find balance skittered off like fall leaves in the wind. His shoulder ached and it was hard to relax. Each time he made some progress another detail of the case came roaring through, shattering his calm. Why had no one claimed responsibility? And why couldn't those damn Sunrise Patriots be the perpetrators? What if the FBI was totally on the wrong track? Those thoughts kept rattling in his brain. The more he considered it, the more logical it seemed. Some internal mechanism within the Sunrise Patriots would explain the silence. 
> 
> He hopped up from the floor and paced angrily through the loft. The Feds had tremendous resources they could bring to bear, but they certainly weren't going to listen. If Major Crime was going to pursue this, how could they get a window into that shadowy, paranoid world? He froze. Well, actually, there might be a way. No, that was impossible - or why not?
> 
> Because he didn't have a warrant, for one thing. What he was contemplating was illegal as hell. 
> 
> He closed his eyes. Memories of bomb victims swept over him like a tide. All those innocent people, attacked without warning. Children - especially the little ones, screaming in pain and fright. Would they ever heal? Have a life without the terror of memory lurking around the corner? It was so wrong.
> 
> What if he could get some scrap of information, some hint that would keep such a thing from happening again? Wouldn't the results outweigh some abstract, legal objection? How could bending the rules be a greater evil than planting a bomb that left a child bathed in blood? Maybe it was time to consider some of those other - options.
> 
> During the rocky transition between high school and college he'd dabbled around the edges of legal with a few people - ones who could genuinely be called hackers. Even now he could appreciate the thrill of peeking into cyber-corners, of knowing secrets, of beating a sophisticated security setup just because you could. He'd gradually lost interest when he'd gained his feet at Rainier, and found more exciting paths of learning, but he still knew people, people who would pick up the challenge if approached in the correct manner.
> 
> He sank back into position, steadied his breathing, his hands open and relaxed on his knees. He wasn't happy about this train of thought. It should be unthinkable. They had rules of evidence and warrants and probable cause for a reason. They were part of the law he'd sworn to uphold. 
> 
> His mind flitted back to one of his earliest memories. He must have been three, or maybe four.
>
>>   
> _But, Mama, you didn't come home!_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> I know, sweetie. It wasn't mama's fault.
>> 
>> Where were you? Why didn't you come?
>> 
>> Oh, sweetie, come here and sit on my lap. Baby, mama was arrested at the rally.
>> 
>> What's 'rested?
>> 
>> The pigs came and grabbed us, and locked us in a room and wouldn't let us go, so I couldn't come home. That's what being arrested means. That's why you had to stay with Sunshine last night. Remember mama told you about the pigs with their blue uniforms and their sticks? How they're mean and they hurt people?
>> 
>> Mmm hmmm. But why did they come? Didn't they like you?
>> 
>> Oh, sweetie, they spy on people. They make nice people tell lies, and secrets they're not supposed to say, and then they came to the rally and said your mama and her friends were bad people, but we're not. They kept your mama away from you. It was all their fault.
>> 
>> Why did they do that, Mama?
>> 
>> Because they don't want people like your mama to tell the truth and protest bad things. But I'm here now, right? You just remember that it was the pigs that were bad. That's why we say, "Power to the people" and make signs and sing songs. 
> 
> Even now, the memory made him shudder. He could almost taste the panic, the fear of not having his mother there to give him dinner and sing him to sleep, to be abandoned with strangers. Naomi had a very clear idea about the intrusion of government authorities into personal lives. She'd taught her little boy about Big Brother and the tyranny of the state right along with his ABC's, and when he was older about the power of establishment, and how things were set up to crush the rights of the individual. Hell, he'd learned protest songs like other kids learned nursery rhymes.
> 
> It was all very idealistic, but people had died. Innocents maimed and injured and killed. If there was a way to stop it, wasn't that the moral imperative? The candles burned much lower before he reconciled himself with what he intended to do. It was his decision, and he'd have to live with the consequences. For entirely different reasons, Jim wouldn't be pleased, but he could probably weather that storm. In fact, Jim couldn't be involved at all. 
> 
> After another moment of hesitation, he uncurled from his meditation posture, reached for the phone, and dialed a number he hadn't used for years.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim opened the door and breathed deep. The odors of soup and warming muffins chased away the frustrations of the day. As he hung up his coat, Blair unwound from some yoga position that would have sent him to prolonged physical therapy. "Meditating, Chief?"
> 
> "Yeah. No great revelations, but it beats channel surfing." He stood and stretched. "I'll get the music."
> 
> "Leave it. Compared to what I've been listening to, it's the sounds of paradise. Can I shower before we eat? I feel -"
> 
> "Grungy. So did I."
> 
> "I'll make it quick. I'm more hungry than tired, but I won't relax until I'm clean."
> 
> "Cheese in your soup? Feta or cheddar?"
> 
> Jim tossed his shirt toward the laundry and grinned. "Need you ask? Both."
> 
> "You're right," Blair muttered. "I didn't need to ask."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim woke and rolled to his side. Not exactly unexpected. When things were this wound up, he usually struggled to go to sleep or sleep through the night. Knowing the tough days awaiting them, Sandburg had encouraged him to use all their little tricks. At least he'd gotten a few hours of rest.
> 
> He pulled the eyeshade off, checked the time, and clicked off the white noise generator. Nearly three. By this time of night, the neighborhood noise wasn't a problem. Then he froze. The neighborhood was quiet and the loft was - too quiet.
> 
> He couldn't hear Sandburg's heartbeat.
> 
> His bare feet slapped the steps in the eerie silence. Blair's room was empty. His coat and keys were gone as well. A sheet of white paper was taped to the door, almost as if the heron was holding it in his beak.
>
>> _Sorry, Jim. You don't want to know about this, and I promise, it's not dangerous. I'll be back before morning. You can be pissed, but please don't ask. For both our sakes._  
> 
> 
> Jim crumpled the paper in his hand, furious over Blair's midnight foray, but impotent. He'd long since quit thinking of Blair as a trouble magnet, but the guy did seem to run into trouble that qualified as unusual. He read the note again. The tone was almost - protective? What could Sandburg possibly think he needed protection from?
> 
> Then it dawned on him. Sandburg was protective of two things, the first being his own sentinel status, and he was fairly certain that didn't apply here. He was also extremely sensitive to anything that might threaten or hamper Jim's career. Put two and two together, and the picture became a little more clear. Blair's solo flight was probably unseemly or illegal or both, and he was trying to give his partner deniability.
> 
> Oblivious to the fact he was clad only in boxers, he stepped onto the balcony. Sandburg's car was still in the lot. Jim swore softly. His cagey partner no doubt feared that Jim would hear the distinctive engine and wake. "Damn you, Blair," he muttered to the empty loft. "You set this thing up without a flaw, and I never had even a hint."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Huddled into his coat, Blair slogged through the rain. He'd gotten as far as he could on the bus but, even in broad daylight, city buses didn't frequent this blighted section of Cascade. Jim would have a fit if he knew, but then Jim didn't have to know everything. In truth, Blair welcomed the solitary journey. Nothing like being allowed plenty of time to second guess your decision.
> 
> He stopped outside the correct address. Under the pale yellow streetlight, he closed his eyes and breathed deep. Meditating intensely, as he'd done at the loft, didn't leave many illusions. He shuddered involuntarily, bringing back the images of the bombing again, the destruction and the carnage: the horrific injuries on the toddler he'd found crumpled under debris. The young woman with the bleeding, ruined face. No, touching your innermost thoughts didn't allow you to lie to yourself. He would honor his inner voice and accept the consequences, whatever they might be.
> 
> He double-checked the building address and entered, climbing the rickety stairs to the fifth floor. On the third knock, the unpainted steel door swung open. "Hey there, Sadie. How are things?" Blair stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. "I swear girl, there's enough hardware in here to change the earth's magnetic field."
> 
> "You're here. What do you want?"
> 
> Blair studied the tall, reed-thin woman standing in the shadows. As usual, a bare fringe of brown hair poked out from under a woolen hat. He was certain she cut it short herself, covering the ragged edges with an assortment of hats. Jeans, a well-worn yellow and green knit sweater and pink fuzzy slippers completed her ensemble. "I brought a sandwich. Your favorite." He held out the tightly wrapped roast beef on rye, with a single dill pickle.
> 
> "Thanks," she said, grabbing the offering and retreating to an already cluttered table. Still watching him warily, she pulled out the pickle and started to eat, a long trailer of mayo dripping unnoticed on her chin.
> 
> "You need anything, Sadie? I can go pick up a few things, if you want. I know you don't go out much."
> 
> "Maybe. I'll think about it. I guess we were friends."
> 
> "We are friends," Blair said gently. Before Sadie had retreated into her haven, behind the walls of her tiny apartment in this old warehouse, she'd been his student. Sadie was brilliant and asocial. He hadn't been able to do much for her when the interactions of the college experience overwhelmed her. Some afflictions just couldn't be overcome with sheer intelligence or patient understanding. His final act as her teacher had been to administer her Anthro 101 final in this very room, allowing her to collect her lone credit for the semester. By then her visits to campus had dwindled to nothing, and her other professors had given up in despair. Her education continued in the only venue she cared about - a world populated by computers, other hackers, and techno-geeks.
> 
> She wiped the mayo from her chin and tossed the crumpled plastic wrap on the table. "Give me the info. Just remember your promise."
> 
> "I won't forget." Blair handed his copy of the information Brown had pulled together, every last detail they knew about individuals associated with the Sunrise Patriots. "If you come up with anything, you tell me and only me. To the rest of the world, you're an anonymous tip."
> 
> She looked at him steadily. "I don't worry too much about rules, and what's private, and legal or not. You're a cop now. Why come to me?"
> 
> Why indeed? Blair hoped he knew the answer himself, that this was really the right choice.
> 
> "Because someone on this list, or someone they know, probably killed and hurt people, people who didn't do anything to deserve it. Because I pulled little kids out of a building, bloody and broken and terrified. Because if they go unpunished, there'll be a next time. And one after that. Because they didn't leave much of a trail, and I probably can't find them to make them stop."
> 
> "I don't like mean people," she said, her expression nearly childlike. How many bullies had she endured growing up? As always, her emotions swung wildly. You never knew how Sadie would react. He waited. She stepped away from him, practically melting into the wall, talking softly as she read. Abruptly she came back to the table, shifted the clutter, and handed him a slip of paper. "Check the email account. Don't use your own computer, or one at work. It might take time. I can get others to help." She motioned him toward the door. His audience with her was apparently over.
> 
> "I understand. Thanks, Sadie." She nearly slammed the door on his foot.
> 
> Back on the street, Blair began the long march back to safer territory, somewhere he might be able to hail a cab and get back to the loft. He'd just violated his oaths as a police officer, and violated everything he thought he believed about civil rights. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should really be a cop.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim heard him coming. Sandburg was smart enough not to use the elevator, a fairly surefire way of waking your sentinel roommate in the middle of the night. Too bad said roommate was already awake, and had no problem hearing the creaking of the stairs. As much as he wanted to ream his partner for being so - stupid, for lack of a better word - Jim knew that wasn't a good approach. Instead, he went to the door, opened it, and waited for Blair's face to appear around the corner of the staircase.
> 
> Blair materialized out of the shadows, carrying his shoes and walking in stocking feet. He saw Jim waiting and shrugged. "So much for trying to be quiet. You should be in bed."
> 
> "I might say the exact same thing to you." Jim stepped aside to let him pass. "When I realized you were gone, there wasn't much chance of sleep. You look cold."
> 
> "I am cold, and wet. It's Cascade in the winter. What a surprise."
> 
> "You deserve it, then. I made fresh coffee. Have a cup before I strangle you."
> 
> "Jim, don't start." Blair hung up his sodden coat and headed for the kitchen.
> 
> Jim trailed a few steps behind, fighting against rising anger. He barely kept his voice civil. "Don't start what? Caring? Worrying? Or being pissed because you set me up for your secret exit?"
> 
> Blair took a sip, wrapping cold fingers around the mug. "This isn't a betrayal thing, Jim. Please believe me, and just leave it alone."
> 
> Despite his best intentions, Jim's anger bubbled to the surface. "Great. Next time you're giving sentinel suggestions I'll try hard not to wonder if I'm being manipulated or deceived."
> 
> Blair set his mug down like it weighed five hundred pounds. "For that, I apologize. I should have anticipated you might feel that way. I really didn't suggest the sleep-mask and the white-noise generator for that reason. I was planning on running this little excursion tomorrow, and making an excuse. It wasn't until we both went to bed that I realized it might be an opportune moment."
> 
> "I feel so much better," Jim said sarcastically. "I should only be concerned that my partner, the man I depend on and live with and work with, doesn't trust me enough to talk to me."
> 
> "And I'm sorry for that, too. But if this backfires, and someone asks you about your involvement, you can honestly say you had no part in anything."
> 
> Jim slid into the chair opposite Blair. "I kind of figured that out about ten minutes after I read your note. Damn you, Sandburg. Like I wouldn't support you if it was something important."
> 
> "You would support me, and that's exactly the problem. Your loyalty to me would override your better judgment. I can't do that to you. It's too big a risk. I'm sorry, Jim, but you're a sentinel. You have such value -"
> 
> "I see. I'm so special that I need to be spared. You'll throw yourself on the grenade, all for the greater good. Sandburg, you are an absolute shithead. I can't even list all the things that are wrong with that reasoning." 
> 
> They endured a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Blair said softly, "There's a good chance nothing will come of it. It's a real long shot. Please let it go. Please. I'm so sorry if this messed with your head." Blair put his elbows on the small kitchen table and let his head sink into his hands. 
> 
> Jim waited, in the vain hope he could guilt his partner into a full confession. After a few minutes, it was foolish to hold out hope. Sandburg might genuinely feel bad, but he was nothing if not stubborn. God only knew how stubborn. "You think you could crash out for a couple of hours? Maybe just stretch out on the couch?"
> 
> "Yeah. I could do that. Jim -"
> 
> "Don't." Jim grabbed a throw off the back of the couch and tossed it in Blair's direction. The moment Blair settled with the blanket pulled up to his chin, he clicked off the lights, and let the silence wrap around them. There wasn't much of anything else he could say.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> TWO DAYS LATER
> 
> "We missed," Henri said angrily. "We couldn't have been even fifteen minutes behind him." He kicked the nearest chair in a rare display of temper. "Damn it!"
> 
> Jim stayed calm. He wasn't used to being the calm mentor to the other members of Major Crime. Frustration was growing amongst the group. He could sympathize because he felt the same way. Besides pursing their hunch about the Patriots, they were carrying out a full load of investigative legwork for the official, FBI-run, bombing investigation. "You're sure Clay was there?" Jim asked. Gary Clay, one of the three recently-released Sunrise Patriots, was now officially listed as a parole violator. Brown and Rafe had been in hot pursuit, flushing him from bolt hole after bolt hole.
> 
> "We found the car he stole in a ditch behind the house. No clues to where he might have been headed. We left when the forensic team got there. They'll find his prints on the car, or in the house. He didn't have enough time to wipe anything down."
> 
> "And the house?" Blair asked. Searching this particular location had come from information provided by Sadie and her little band of miscreants. 
> 
> He'd been very quietly dropping little tidbits into their pool of working knowledge whenever he could manage it without tipping off the rest of the group. Sometimes his contributions were surreptitiously added to the SP Database, as they cryptically referred to it. They were all working from that resource, and people were adding tidbits all the time. When the opportunity arose and he could manufacture a reasonable cover, he wove little suggestions into the conversation. So far, no one had caught on. If his luck held, he'd keep integrating Sadie's little gold nuggets as the products of routine background investigations. No one would need to know just how far off the reservation he had strayed, and they certainly wouldn't be held to blame.
> 
> "Some shoestring relative of Kincaid, just like we thought. According to the neighbors, the place has been deserted for a couple of years," Rafe said. "Damn, we were so close. Someone had to have picked him up."
> 
> "Could be one of the other two parolees," Jim said. "Any new leads on the other two? We could sure tighten the noose by throwing a net over the others."
> 
> Blair let the give and take flow around him. When the discussion had really taken off, and everyone was throwing out suggestions left and right, he leaned over and whispered in Jim's ear. "I'm going to get some coffee. Back in a few." 
> 
> He didn't wait for Jim's comeback or approval. Jim was running Major Crime, and Blair knew he couldn't bail out at the drop of a hat. Blair was out the door before Jim could mount a protest. He jogged five blocks, and arrived at the internet café in record time. He gave his coffee order between pants and grabbed the first available computer.
> 
> His breath went out in a rush. Sadie had been busy. Very, very busy.
> 
> &&&&& "Captain Banks? You have a few minutes?"
> 
> Special-agent-in-Charge Lewis Fischer hovered by the door, waiting for Banks to invite him in. Try as he might, the relationship between the Bureau and Cascade PD continued to be tough sledding. Overlapping jurisdictions inherently bred jealousy and competition, even when people were banding together in a crisis. SAC Fischer was willing to admit the officers under his command had executed some real blunders right off the bat. Banks was a good man, in a tough position, and he had every reason to be suspicious of the Bureau's motives. It made these little bridge building exercises more difficult, and all the more necessary.
> 
> Banks motioned him in. His temporary digs were still in the basement of the municipal library. Sometimes he felt like an absolute idiot, wedged in here next to the kiddie stacks and the Story-Time area. Despite the surroundings, the Cascade PD was functioning with relative efficiency. "I thought the briefing wasn't until two. You want some coffee?"
> 
> "I'll take whatever you've got. Rumor has it that your brew beats the stuff in our offices by miles."
> 
> "Welcome to the Northwest, where coffee matters. Do we have a problem?" Simon said tersely. He was willing to be marginally hospitable, but this man couldn't expect him to roll out the red carpet.
> 
> "No, no problem. I just wanted a word, privately, without all the other agencies and interests hanging on every word." With an inward sigh Fischer accepted the stony silence that followed. Banks didn't have any reason to welcome his visit. Had the positions been reversed, he would have felt the same way. "We're stuck. I hate to admit it, but we're going nowhere."
> 
> "I've noticed. If you're not getting cooperation from any of my people..."
> 
> "On the contrary. The PD has followed up on everything we've thrown your way. You, Lui and Taggart have done a great job of pulling your organization back together."
> 
> "Thanks. We try." 
> 
> Okay, so Banks wasn't going to say much. He'd have to make his own opening. "Look, this is off the record. A couple of my agents hinted that your Major Crime group in particular might have some - ideas, shall we say - that you haven't shared."
> 
> "I see."
> 
> Fischer nodded, refusing to lose his temper. This situation needed finesse, not force. "I also see that we made some pretty clumsy accusations about one of your detectives. We also didn't give appropriate weight to the information we got during the initial phase of the investigation. I'm sure it pissed people off pretty thoroughly."
> 
> "That's so."
> 
> God, this guy wasn't going to make things easy. He was going to have to crawl. "So, Captain, I can understand where the atmosphere might not have been the best. That maybe after getting short shrift, your guys might not be real willing to clue us in on everything."
> 
> "Mmm huh."
> 
> Fischer set his paper cup on the edge of the desk ever so gently. "We're screwed in this investigation. We've got nowhere to go. If you've got another approach, I need to hear it, because, damn it all, if we weren't listening before, we're sure as hell listening now."
> 
> Banks leaned across the desk ever so slightly. "Yeah, I gave them the green light to work on another angle. Suffice it to say, Sandburg, the man you accused of planting his own bomb to discover, noticed that there might be a sort of anniversary date involved. My group in Major Crime has been working on it very quietly, in addition to their other assignments."
> 
> Fisher nodded slowly. It was time to deal. "He and your group get all the credit. I'll give you whatever retraction concerning previous accusations that you need to satisfy reputation or honor. Give me a crumb, Banks. We're going down in flames, and these guys are going to get away with a horrible act of terrorism."
> 
> Banks raised an eyebrow and gave him a sly little smile. "How much do you know about Garrett Kincaid and the Sunrise Patriots?"
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Blair divvied out a variety of coffee and pastry, listening intently. He wanted to burst out with the information he'd gotten, but that was out of the question. With no likely camouflage, he wouldn't, and couldn't, answer the inevitable questions about his source. He'd have to find a way to sneak this latest gem from Sadie in, and fast.
> 
> "Okay, everybody," Jim said. "Do the stuff for the Feds, but if you've got something hot on our other little project, go with it. Keep the SP up to date. Anything you find might be the domino that makes all the others fall." He stood and gestured emphatically. "As of right now, we keep working through every family member, every friend of a friend, every address. If we need to look at phone records, I can probably swing it with the DA because of our parole violators. If we can make any kind of connection, they're our excuse. Meet back here after your shifts, and we'll go through it all again."
> 
> The other detectives filed out. Fueled by Rafe and Brown's near miss, they were chomping at the bit. Jim waited until the room emptied. Blair felt the hair on his neck rise. Needing an immediate deflection, he opened his laptop. Jim usually was willing to leave him alone when it came to computer work.
> 
> "Chief?"
> 
> The room was empty. Why couldn't their acting head honcho get a phone call or something? "Uh, Jim, can you give me a minute here?" Blair kept typing frantically, hoping Jim didn't come behind him to look at the screen. Most of it was nonsense. Not his best effort at deflection.
> 
> "Sandburg, look at me."
> 
> Blair recognized that tone. He stopped and looked up, briefly contemplating a verbal smoke screen. The look on Jim's face cut that thought off.
> 
> "Take a walk with me." Jim motioned him to follow. "Now."
> 
> Blair trailed behind like a guilty kid being dragged to see the principal. Jim marched them off in silence, and squashed a couple halfhearted attempts at banter. They made a brief stop at the Mr. Tube Steak cart before Jim plunked him down in the park gazebo. "Unless someone is playing James Bond with one of those parabolic microphones, we're alone. Spill, Sandburg."
> 
> "I don't want catsup on my pants." Blair flashed a cheesy grin, knowing all the while it was futile.
> 
> "You've been slipping info in on the sly. These little unannounced departures are to meet your source."
> 
> "Jim, come on, I went to get coffee. For Pete's sake..."
> 
> "Your heart rate when you walked in could have been the drum section in a Sousa march. Unless you were sprinting with six cups of lattes and cappuccinos, you found something out that has you pretty wound up." He crossed his arms across his chest, the very picture of the immovable stern leader. "And don't start with the spiel about the senses being a violation of your constitutional rights."
> 
> Blair nearly choked. The sick feeling in his stomach wasn't from the hotdog. "I'm in no situation to discuss a violation of civil rights," he said, measuring his words.
> 
> Jim sat down like someone had just informed him of a death. "I see." He took a deep breath. "In the military - a few times I chose not to color between the lines. You made a decision, and that's done. Tell me how deep we're in."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> "Yes, sir. I understand. But you'll do it?" With a nod, Jim hung up the phone. "Taggart is covering for me. Simon knows what, but not why. We're going to keep it that way."
> 
> Blair agonized over the turn of events. He should have known Jim would twig to what was going on. "Jim, you shouldn't be doing this. Let me handle -"
> 
> "Chief, that discussion is over. Here, I have contact numbers - all social services of some sort." He handed the cell phone to his partner and continued to drive down a gravel road that was more mud than anything else. "Keep calling until we can find someone who can confirm the connection between Clay and this kid, John Saxo."
> 
> "Jim, even if we do, that's not enough justification," Blair protested, although he kept dialing. 
> 
> "Of course it is. Everyone in Major Crime heard me say we were going to chase down all potential connections. We're just not going to tell anyone we were on our way out here already, and that what we're told is just confirmation of what we already know. Now get busy. Damn, this road is a mess." 
> 
> Ten minutes later the truck was parked at the end of a long driveway leading to a dilapidated white clapboard house. Surrounding firs pressed in close, drooping from recent rain. A thick coating of moss covered the neglected roof. A dented sedan and a motorcycle were visible under a severely leaning carport roof.
> 
> They had the confirmation from social services they sought. Jon Saxo, twenty-three, was a stepbrother - sort of , through a rather circuitous tangle of multiple marriages and relations - to one Gary Clay, formerly a resident of the state penitentiary in Walla Walla and card-carrying member of the Sunrise Patriots. On several occasions, the two men, despite a twelve year age difference, had lived briefly under the same roof. Saxo, like many young people his age, was a confirmed social networker. He'd taken unusual steps to keep some of that networking confined to what he believed was a controlled, protected group of like-minded compatriots.
> 
> It should have worked, and did. Right up until the time Sadie, and Lord knew who else, crawled through cyberspace, found him, and started reading his key stokes. 
> 
> "Should we call for backup?" Blair asked.
> 
> Jim shook his head. "You don't call for backup to make a routine house check. It would be a red flag to anyone who might question our motives for being here."
> 
> "Jim, these guys just might answer a knock on the door with a pound of C4 or a sawed off shotgun."
> 
> "Call Brown. Give him our cover story. Tell him...tell him we saw someone through the window who might be Gary Clay. Tell him the situation feels hinky, and if he doesn't hear from us in the next thirty minutes to come in."
> 
> "We could be dead in thirty minutes, Jim."
> 
> "Let's try to avoid that, shall we? We're going to move along that line of trees and come in through the back."
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Fischer leaned closer. "Sunrise Patriots? A couple of years ago, right?"
> 
> Simon nodded. "The first time he took over the Cascade PD and started aiming grenade launchers and RPG's all over downtown. Kincaid escaped, and took over a Jags game. It was all a ploy to move a bank-full of money and establish Kincaid with his followers in another location."
> 
> "But he's incarcerated. What evidence is pointing you this direction?"
> 
> "Kincaid is cooling his heels in a cell in Walla Walla, and he evidence is circumstantial. One of my guys realized the attacks took place on the anniversary of his sentencing. We checked, and a couple of weeks ago three of his lieutenants were released because of overcrowding. Yeah, it was an error the size of Texas."
> 
> "Parole?"
> 
> "Violated and disappeared within the first week."
> 
> "It's not enough," Fischer said.
> 
> "We know that. It's also consistent with what we know about the group up to this point."
> 
> "Would you be willing to meet with me and a few others?" Fischer asked. "Bring your people in and hash this out? Tonight, late. Solely need to know. You have my word you'll get a fair hearing."
> 
> Simon hesitated, even though he'd suspected that they'd eventually have to make peace with the federal part of the investigation. He rose and offered his hand.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Jim had gone a good thirty feet before realizing that his partner wasn't with him. He glanced over his shoulder. Blair was standing by the truck, calmly holding two vests with a firm grasp. Jim motioned him to catch up. Blair shook his head and stayed rooted to the spot. With a sigh of exasperation, Jim threaded his way back through the vegetation. He hated wearing body armor, but in this instance, his partner was probably correct.
> 
> "You satisfied now?" Jim asked.
> 
> "I'd be satisfied with a small SWAT team armed to the teeth. We're changing the plan. You go first and use your senses, but I'm the one going up on the porch."
> 
> "You most certainly are not."
> 
> Blair zipped an oversized windbreaker over the vest. He swiped Jim's Jags ball cap and shoved his hair underneath it. He adjusted the hat so it came low over his face. "I'm going in as a stranded motorist. Go do your thing, because we're not going to argue about this."
> 
> "Sandburg."
> 
> "I don't have your physical presence, and I basically look harmless. Sorry, partner, you - just don't. Now go. I'll give you some time before I come in."
> 
> Cursing under his breath, Jim padded through the undergrowth. His jeans were quickly soaked. He halted thirty feet from the house and listened. Three voices, just to make things a little more interesting. He crossed unbroken ground and sheltered between some forlorn bushes and the corner of the carport. 
> 
> He listened intently. He heard the name 'Gary' and, a few moments later, 'Jon' was mentioned. Voice number three was a mystery. For sure they were outnumbered. 
> 
> Blair was walking into the yard. He made eye contact, and Jim held up three fingers. His partner gave him the slightest nod and kept going. Jim wanted to move, to get a better view and give Sandburg better cover. He darted out to the vehicle and hunched behind the driver's side front tire. Blair was on the first creaky wooded step leading to the porch.
> 
> It was an impulse move at the last possible moment. Jim flicked out the blade of his Leatherman and neatly clipped off the stem of the air valve. Air hissed immediately out of the tire.
> 
> At the same moment, he heard a roar, and saw Sandburg fly backward off of the porch. It was a fucking shotgun, just as Blair had feared. He rounded the car low, stabbing the blade into the left rear tire as he ran, shouting for his partner.
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> "It hasn't been thirty minutes, H."
> 
> Henri was aggressively changing lanes, intent on his driving. "Your point, man?"
> 
> "We're probably overreacting, that's my point. That and your driving is scaring the crap out of me. Shit, you almost hit that guy."
> 
> Brown abruptly dodged over two lanes of traffic to make his exit. "The thirty minutes was just smoke and mirrors, man. Smoke and mirrors." He squealed around the next corner on two wheels. Rafe nearly choked in the shoulder belt.
> 
> "Clue me in before I die," Rafe croaked, trying to brace himself against the door.
> 
> Henri shouted over the roar of the engine. "Hairboy's been getting info. He's been sneaking it in, and doesn't want to talk about it. And now both those boys are on to something." They took another corner hard, losing speed with a jar as the surface changed to sloppy mud and gravel. Henri fought the skid and kept going.
> 
> "And you didn't think to tell me?" Rafe nearly shouted.
> 
> Henri spared his partner a scathing look. "This is Major Crime, man. The international headquarters of 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell'. Unless we fall over it, we ignore it. How much farther?"
> 
> &&&&&
> 
> Three figures exploded from the house. Jim brought down one who'd stopped to finish off Sandburg with a head shot. Jim's first shot blew through his gun hand. The second shot dropped him, screaming, hands clawing over his shattered knee. The other two kept running, firing awkwardly over their shoulders. One headed for the vehicle, the other for the motorcycle.
> 
> The guy scrambling for the car was Clay. He wasn't close enough to threaten Sandburg, and the car wouldn't get him far. Jim ignored him. A slight, younger man who fit the description of John Saxo was trying to fire up the motorcycle, torn between firing at Jim and getting away. Jim shouted the usual warnings. His shot went inches wide when Saxo ducked nimbly behind the motorcycle. 
> 
> The motorcycle roared to life. Saxo discarded the gun and opted for flight. The cycle wobbled ominously as he tried to maneuver and use the machine's bulk as a shield at the same time. He didn't notice Sandburg struggling to his knees. Intent on escape, he also didn't notice as Blair rolled a melon-sized rock right under the front wheel, just as the cycle was picking up speed. The bike flipped to the side, throwing the rider head over heels. He hit hard and didn't move.
> 
> "Go!" Blair shouted. "I'm fine! I can handle these two!" He saw Jim hesitate, frozen with worry. "Go! Don't let him get away! Use the motorcycle!" 
> 
> Jim righted the motorcycle and revved the engine to life. He flattened himself over the handlebars, in hot pursuit of the crippled sedan. The car careened down the driveway, Clay obviously fighting the damaged tires. Jim saw his eyes in the rearview mirror, widening in panic as Jim picked up speed in pursuit.
> 
> For a flew moments they flew in tandem down the long narrow drive. Jim suddenly pulled the bike to a sliding stop. Ecstatic Clay floored the sedan, his gaze still focused on the rearview mirror. Jim could only smile as the would-be fugitive plowed the limping sedan into the trunk of a car, positioned strategically across the end of the drive.
> 
> Leave it to Henri and Rafe to lay down the perfect impromptu road block.
> 
> **Epilogue**
> 
> The members of Major Crime did, in fact, drag Gary Clay into the middle of the evening press briefing. Jim, on behalf of his fellow miscreants, later apologized, but even Simon had to admit it was a thing of beauty. In a defining act of one-ups-manship, Captain Banks pulled the appropriated strings with the FBI. Agents Caldwell and Borden, Blair's overeager accusers, were selected to take Sandburg and Ellison's statement concerning the successful investigation and arrest. Blair tried to be polite. Jim - not so much.
> 
> A swarm of Federal personnel fell on the house like locusts on wheat. They immediately took possession of Jon Saxo's infinitely incriminating computer. Evidence implicating the Sunrise Patriots poured out in a flood, all collected by certified experts and covered with valid warrants. Blair was frantic, imagining the worst: Sadie hauled off in irons, the case blown, and his own long incarceration on some unnamed prison island. If the later investigators noticed the tracks of earlier intrusions, no one mentioned it. Blair's fears slowly ebbed. Within days, arrest followed arrest. As the early crocus sprang into bloom, any hopes Garret Kincaid may have harbored of resurrecting his organization died.
> 
> Henri got his car fixed.
> 
> To her infinite surprise, Sadie Robben began to get deliveries of perfect roast beef on rye sandwiches every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. On a rare foray from her apartment she inquired with the deli making the deliveries. She was told that a sizable sum of cash had been anonymously arranged, and to expect the sandwiches into the foreseeable future. In her own imitable way, she explained rather emphatically that she expected a dill pickle to accompany each and every sandwich.
> 
> The surviving members of the Cascade PD upper administration slowly healed and returned to work. By unanimous decision, Ken Wicker, their organizational consultant, was quietly released with their thanks. The elaborate reorganization plans were scrapped, based on the realization that in a crisis, good people worked things out all by themselves.
> 
> Olivia Perkins and James Ellison, despite an abbreviated review process, were each awarded a promotion to the rank of Lieutenant, along with a choice of assignment. Olivia quietly accepted the second-in-command of the Fraud Division. Jim, true to earlier pronouncements and despite other attractive offers, chose to stay in Major Crime as a detective. 
> 
> The activity around the bombing case reached a crescendo, slowly died away, then revved up to a fever pitch as the expedited trial began. Blair was haunted by what he considered inevitable; eventually the right questions would be asked. The choices looked bleak. Perjure himself and preserve the case, or tell the truth about his illicit methods. To cleanse his conscience and let the bombers walk free was unacceptable.
> 
> Under the circumstances, Jim felt no guilt whatsoever about bending the rules. For Blair, the issue ran deeper. Nothing Jim could say helped resolve the paradox. Jim watched and worried anxiously as an ominous detachment settled over his partner. 
> 
> The trial was a fiasco. The prosecution produced a mountain of damning evidence, including a basement full of bomb making materials in Saxo's residence. Under normal circumstances, the defense attorneys should have challenged every shred of evidence. They should have challenged every move Federal and local officials had made leading up to the arrest. It might have been enough to uncover their secret. Blair grew ever more quiet. Jim lay awake nights, concocting wild schemes to prevent his partner from throwing himself on his sword.
> 
> It never happened. For the Sunrise Patriots, court was vindication, and an uninterrupted opportunity to broadcast their beliefs. To the anguish of their defense lawyers, the 'not guilty' pleas were just a mechanism to prolong the spotlight. They weren't interested in an acquittal. As the trial progressed, one Sunrise Patriot after another proudly defended their actions. Several stated for the record that more attacks had been planned. Had they not been stopped, the loss of life would have gone even higher. Even then, Blair could not reconcile the outcome, versus the necessity of his actions, on his personal scale of justice.
> 
> On one fine spring morning after the verdicts had been rendered, after many long nights and fruitless conversations, Blair arrived at a decision. Seated at the kitchen table, he brought the matter to a close.
> 
> "Jim, I understand how you feel, but it has to be this way. I've railed about the evils of the Patriot Act and rampant intelligence gathering on American citizens, and I turned around and did something worse. I can't live with myself as a total hypocrite."
> 
> "Sandburg, you don't owe penance to anyone. Those bastards raved at the top of their lungs what they intended to do. They would have kept right on bombing. Damn it, you saved a lot of lives." 
> 
> "That really isn't the point, Jim." 
> 
> "Of course it's the point." 
> 
> "I keep thinking about Incacha. About what he said about law, and justice."
> 
> "Is this really justice, Chief? Punishing yourself ?"
> 
> "It's not punishment. I have values that are important to me. If I actively choose to violate those values, I want to actively choose to honor them as well. Ying and yang. Alpha and omega. Balance in all things."
> 
> Jim conceded the point. Sandburg always had worn his heart on his sleeve, at least about the things that mattered, and they'd talked this to death many times. Jim watched solemnly as his partner selected a black pen and inked a check to the Washington State chapter of the ACLU. Knowing the state of his roommate's strained financial circumstances, Jim had argued adamantly against amount, but to know avail. Futile or not, he gave it one final try.
> 
> "That's one hell of a big check, Chief," Jim said gently. 
> 
> "It needs to be, Jim," Blair said, sealing the envelope. "Considering everything, it needs to be."
> 
> THE END  
>   
> ---


End file.
